Hiding In Plain Sight
by TheBlondeBullet
Summary: [3] When NCIS is called in on a case in Bludhaven, the team finds themselves working with a young aspiring police officer named Dick Grayson whose enigmatic ways may prove useful. While friendships bloom, they strive to solve the case of a murdered marine while somehow working alongside Nightwing himself. All the while, Dick must keep his identity a secret. Hurt!Dick NCIS Crossover
1. Weapon of the Enemy

Hiding in Plain Sight

 **Summary** \- When NCIS are called in on a case in Bludhaven, they find themselves working with a young aspiring police officer named Dick Grayson whose enigmatic ways may prove useful. While friendships bloom, they strive to solve the case of a murdered marine while somehow working alongside Nightwing himself. All the while, Dick must keep his identity a secret. Drugs stabbings assassins 

**Setting** \- This story is set within several different universes. I realize that may sound a tiny bit confusing, but it isn't really, so try and bear with me. The NCIS team have Gibbs, Tony, Tim, and Ziva on it, but this story isn't set within a particular season or after a certain episode for them - they're just kinda here, in all their naval investigative glory. The Young Justice side of it is where I might lose you a little. In this story, Dick is a police officer in Bludhaven. Yes, I know this technically does not happen in the Young Justice universe. Just picture this- in the gap between seasons, Dick takes some time off from the team (Wally does it, so why can't Dick?) and decides to become a police officer. I know that calls for more than a five year time gap (since Dick was 18 at the beginning of YJ season 2, and for most police departments you have to be 20-21 to apply), but time isn't really a construct I'm too worried about here. Dick is Nightwing, he is not with the team at the moment, and that is all that matters. 

**Pairings** \- There are none. This is not a romantic story. Unless you count friendships as pairings. 

**Genre/Rating** \- I settled on Friendship/Adventure, but I think a more accurate genre would be Friendship/Adventure/Humor/Mystery/Crime/Hurt/Comfort. Just saying. Rating is T. 

**Disclaimer** \- I don't own the NCIS universe, or the Young Justice universe, or the characters in either one. Sadly. Because if I did, NCIS would still have Ziva, and Young Justice would never had had a time skip, and would be wrapping up with season 4 (?) right now. I can still dream. 

**Author's Notes** \- This story has been my brainchild for a little bit now. It probably came to fruition when I realized in all of , there were only 5 YJ/NCIS crossovers. I know, _whaaat_? That's crazy. Here are two universes that deal in different kinds of bad guys, and no one has written anything that actually brings the two together on a case. So, my muse was tickled, and I sat down and wrote an outline that was my every thought for about a week. 

Let me just say, in this story, Dick is Nightwing, but he is mentally probably a little bit more like Robin. The Nightwing in season 2 is way too stiff and mature for my taste, and I don't know what could have made Dick have such a drastic personality change, but let me just say, I'm not having any of it. As I'm sure you'll find out soon enough. 

This story is one I hope I stick with to the very end, because potentially, there could be sequels/prequels to this thing. Which yes, my muse is already itching me to work on and obsess over. But right now, I am fully dedicated to this literary work. So... enjoy :)

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Chapter 1 

_Describe your experience with your FTO (Field Training Officer), giving specific details to procedural codes followed. How do you feel this patrol was carried out? What, in your opinion, could have been improved upon? What will you do differently in your next patrol?_

Dick rubbed at his eyes as the bold, italicized print messed with his sleep deprived brain, and he couldn't help but utter a sigh as he leafed through the booklet-sized monster of a training booklet. The words that floated across his retinas were tired, dull, and repetitive. Halfway through this damned thing, three months into his field training as a cop, and he had yet to write anything remotely interesting into the grass green booklet that taunted him with words of 'To Protect and Serve' over the Bludhaven Police Department seal. If that was what he was really doing, then he wouldn't be so tempted to run this thing through a shredder and offer it up as litter box material to the next pet shop he saw. 

Dick sat back in the office chair (which he had deemed as a passable seat), and leveled a glare at the book, which sat taunting him atop his wooden, cluttered desk. He was three months into his field training, and had three left to go before this pamphlet was a thing of the past. And he couldn't be happier about that fact. It was the only thing curbing his frustration at this point, the only thing keeping him relatively traught. 

And yet, on the other hand, there'd been something strangely… nostalgic about the rigorous testing he'd been put through to become an officer of the law. Maybe he was crazy, but when he'd finished the entrance exam with the other applicants and turned in booklet filled with the questions that tested his heightened senses of observation and recall, he could've sworn he'd look up and see Batman glancing over his answers, a discreet lifting of the corner of his mouth the only indicator of Robin's achievement. Practically a shout of approval from Batman. When they'd been put through the physical ability test, it felt just like one of the drills Batman had run him through until his body was nothing but corded muscle (or maybe a warmup for one of those drills…). The academy itself had been the most reminiscent of his days as Batman's apprentice, whether it be the physical training, the Emergency Vehicle Operations Course, and the lessons in laws and ethics. He knew it wasn't the same caliber as the Batman's training, but he put all his effort into it anyway. That could very well be the reason he was the top of his class. 

But now… now he needed action. Dick was a person who needed to move, needed to be headed on to his next thing seconds after he was done with the first. He wanted to finally take off the kid gloves and do the job that this city needed him to do. He needed to see the fear in criminals' eyes as they were apprehended, the understanding dawn on their face as they realized that reality was crashing down around them. He needed to know he was doing right by whatever city he was in so that the streets were a safer place for all. He wasn't permitted to do that as a cop yet, because he was about as green as they got, but at least he still had the night to swing among the concrete towers in the sky and hunt down felons like he'd been doing for more than half of his life. 

"Dick, if you stare any harder at that thing it's going to spontaneously combust," a combative voice stated. Dick lifted his eyes in time to see Amy Rohrbach depositing a foot tall stack of paper on her desk in front of him. Her strict brunette ponytail and hanging bangs swung with her head as she turned back to face him, her brown eyes stern. 

Dick couldn't suppress the quirky smile that spread across his face. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, Amy – it would make really, _really_ good kindling." 

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up and smell the roses, rookie. If you marry the force, paperwork will be your mistress. You haven't even seen the half of it yet, and you're already complaining. Just wait until you actually get out in the field." 

_Actually, I can't wait. Like, at all._ "You know, I think I'll take my chances. What are the odds we go out one last time tonight?" Amy glared at him, murder clearly on her mind. Clearly she was trying to skirt the round of paperwork she had to fill out every time they went out, too. Dick decided to hit the nail on the hammer. "I'll do all the arresting reports for two weeks." 

She eyed him suspiciously, the deal obviously sending up red flags in her mind. Dick couldn't blame her – arresting reports were tedious, long ordeals, but were largely full of filler information. They were necessary, but largely a waste of paper. _If only Bludhaven would get on the ball and go electronic for every case_ , he thought wistfully _…It would be so much easier for Nightwing to find what he needed on the badies…_ He snapped his mind back to attention. 

Dick knew Amy wasn't just suspicious because of the tedious nature of the paperwork involved, and the obviously stilted deal. Amy had been on the force a while now, and Dick knew she was one of the more senior officers around. Because of this, she was fully aware of the corruption coursing through the Bludhaven police force like a venereal disease. The Boy Wonder knew the very concept of corrupt police officers disturbed the strong-principaled cop, going against everything she stood for and believed in. It wasn't something that could be easily fought, however – Dick had witnessed the full extent of the corruption that ran through the city and the police that guarded it. It was the very reason he'd been attracted to this city in the first place. The crooked ways of this city were so blatant it made Gotham look almost tame. Almost. 

Now, Dick was, in a way, asking Amy to trust him, a fresh-faced cop right out of the academy. Dick couldn't blame her for being dubious – in Bludhaven, it was best to assume everyone was crooked to prevent yourself from being screwed over. After all, if it seems like everyone is out to get you, they probably are. Amy didn't have a team like he once had, people she could trust and confide in and would always have her back. In this city, Dick's offer could very well be his way of messing with her career by writing false or inaccurate reports. Dick would never in a million years do something like that, but the probability of someone else doing the exact same was high in this precinct. No, with Amy her hackles were always raised and her walls had never come completely down. And Dick was no different. 

That was why Dick was infinitely surprised when Amy grabbed her jacket and keys from her desk and headed briskly for the door. "Move it or lose it rookie." He grinned widely as he headed for the door, bouncing with energy as he trailed on her heels. This was just what he needed to end the cop part of his day the right way. 

Dick could barely contain his excitement as they both slid into the vehicle and took off down the streets of Bludhaven. Looking out the window, Dick observed with a keen eye at the well-worn buildings, the dilapidated apartments that scraped the looming dark sky between the golden street lights. Hints of the homeless peeked out from alleyways, dirty faces and tattered clothing trailing in the chilly air. Like Gotham, the city felt like a living, breathing creature beneath him, the streets running like veins through its dark center, and Dick could feel the same disease that had coursed its way through Gotham rampaging through Bludhaven, but stronger and more deadly. It left the same aftertaste on the city. Desperation. Helplessness. A general loss of hope and happiness for all. 

"If you don't stop tapping, you're going to permanently lose your hand. You have been warned," Amy's voice warned on his left. Dick realized he'd been tapping his thumb against the passenger door in a nonsensical frenzy, and quickly removed his valued phalange. 

"Touchy, touchy. You know, if you're not careful, people might actually be able to tell you like me under all that tough exterior." Dick gave her a sideways grin before settling into the cushy passenger seat, melding his butt into the grey cloth. 

"And when that day comes, I'll know it's time to retire, because I'll know I've gone senile." 

Dick pretended to flinch. "Oo, harsh. Words hurt, you know." 

"Grayson… knock it off. This isn't play time, this is a job, so keep your eyes peeled and keep alert. We're on the clock here." Dick heard her voice toe the line between mentor and mother, and he grudgingly agreed. Amy ran a tight ship, but he couldn't deny that she kept him sharp as a tack. She was almost as no-nonsense as Bruce, except with the mouth of a sailor. Suffice to say, he'd picked up a few choice phrases. 

Silence reigned once again in the car's interior, and Dick was just finished running through police scanner codes in his head when the radio blipped on, giving a short blast of static before a male voice spoke. "Base to C-13, come in. Over." 

Amy grabbed the radio and flipped the power button. "C-13, acknowledged." Dick's heart had started fluttering in anticipation. 

"C-13, there's a 245, 417 taking place on Roosevelt and 9th. Reroute and respond immediately." 

"10-4. On our way. C-13 out." Amy turned off the radio and glanced toward Dick. "245…?" 

Dick didn't hesitate. "245, assault with deadly weapon. 417, person with a gun. We're obviously assuming that's the deadly weapon in this case." 

Amy nodded. "Correct. Repeat the rules to me Dick." The siren above the cab of the car started wailing, cutting into the relative quiet of the night as red and blue lights bounced off the store windows all around them as they raced through the streets. 

Dick ground his teeth audibly, his frustration with the insane, stupid, ridiculous rule showing through. "Don't get out of the car. If that's not feasible, don't engage." 

Amy pulled into a parking lot right off of the intersection from the report. It was dark, but lit by one bright overhead lamp casting broad shadows that stretched onto nearby buildings. Cars were scattered haphazardly across the lot, and there seemed to be no one in sight or nearby. Dick shifted in his seat, still agitated, and Amy whipped her head to glare at him. "I'm serious Dick. It's the rules – you're not a full fledged cop of the precinct yet, not until you pass your field training, and until then you're a liability." 

"Liability?," Dick seethed. "I'm hardly a liability; you know that. I'm the best shot out of my class, possibly the precinct, and somehow I'm a hindrance to the force? To you? I can _help_ , Amy." Dick had been struggling with this impossible rule for three months of field training, and there wasn't a day that passed that he didn't think of it as preposterous. How was he supposed to train on the job if he wasn't allowed into the thick of things? It was like Batman and the Joker all over again. 

"Dick." Amy's voice was steel, reinforced with titanium lining and alloy support beams. "This isn't up for debate, now or ever. Stay in the cruiser." She looked back out at the empty parking lot, and opened the door. Dick could see her head scanning, her eyes quickly analyzing the situation with a speed even Batman might be proud of. 

She lifted herself out of the car and stood behind the open door, both her hands firmly secured on her Glock 22. Dick saw the wave of calm wash over her as she held the gun, its' solid weight seeming to provide her with a sense of calm that she didn't have before, altering her in a way that maybe she wasn't even aware of. 

_Bang! Bang!_

The sounds of gunshots sounded through the night, unsilenced and unapologetic. Both bullets hit the front end of the police cruiser, shaking Dick slightly inside the cab. Instantly Dick's eyes were searching for a culprit, someone who had evaded them when they first pulled in. He was vaguely aware of Amy ducking behind the door, finding safety behind the metal frame. 

There! Three figures bathed in shadows staggered out from behind a white van, which had hidden them from Dick at first. He eyed the three and sensed that something wasn't right. The group of men (it was obviously men, based on the broad shoulders and heights) weren't moving smoothly – they staggered along quickly. Two of the men seemed to both tug and support the third, who was clearly struggling but not with any substantial strength. His movements seemed jerky and confused, like a fish flopping out of water. 

To his left, Amy suddenly rocketed back to her feet and stood, her gun stiffly in front of her as she let loose several bullet rounds. Her face was pinched and tight, and Dick was suddenly sure her glare could kill as surely as any bullet. _If looks could kill, right? Get some lessons from Batman and her glare would be lethal._

The figures stopped with a dark grey Mercury Montego sandwiched between them and the cop car. The third man was dragged into a shield position as one of the men drew him close, and Dick saw the glint of silver as a gun was raised. Panic clenched his stomach as he shouted, "Amy, get down!" 

Three short blasts came from the assailants weapon. Three quick shots fired into a relatively small area. Dick saw the two close, small holes in Amy's body as she was struck in the left shoulder. He watched with growing horror as her body shuddered and fell, her body falling bonelessly to the pavement with a thud. _No, No, No!_ Almost as soon as he made to move across the consul and to his partner, there was a bang and the windshield shattered. Dick had a split second to throw his arm over his head before glass was raining down around him, cutting through his uniform. He might've been hurt – he couldn't tell. He couldn't feel anything. 

His training took over as the shooting continued, the blasts ripping through the silent night around them. In an instant he was behind his own car door, crouching as he fingered his Glock. His hands seemed to take the weapon out of its holster of their own accord, switching the safety off and checking the chamber with a practiced, steady hand. 

His body may have been calm, but his mind certainly wasn't. There was Amy, who he was certain was alive, but injured. _Double tap to the shoulder – not fatal, but time sensitive. She could bleed out soon if she doesn't get help._ Again panic threatened to strangle him, grasping his throat in its iron fist as he thought about his mentor, his take-no-bullshit Batman surrogate. She could die if something wasn't done, and fast. 

_Then do something,_ Batman's voice growled in his ear. _Think. What's the obstacle between you and saving Amy?_

 _The shooters._ Dick realized. If he took out the shooters, he'd have a clear path to get to Amy and the assailants would be downed. Kill two birds with one stone. 

Securing the Glock in his hand, he rose to mid crouch in between the car body and the car door. In the canyon between the two he settled his gun. Instantly he was analyzing, taking in everything before him. 

One of the men, blonde and shorter, was running across the parking lot toward an alleyway between two buildings. Dick would have liked to down him, but the shot was too close between him and the victim, and despite not knowing the third man's condition, he didn't want to harm him any further. The blonde man quickly rounded a corner and was gone. 

His eyes quickly took in the other man. The taller, darker man had pushed the third man away so he was leaning his legs against the Montego, and had his gun aimed at the man's chest. Dick could see the man's lips moving, but no words carried across the lot. The victim was swaying slightly, and Dick could see that the dark man was getting increasingly agitated – trails of his angry voice carried across. 

Dick knew he had to act quickly. The darker man would soon shoot his victim, and Dick knew he couldn't let that happen. His gun was loaded and ready, and the man's head lined up with Dick's trigger… everything lined up with his sights…there was no wind, the man wasn't moving… 

And yet, Dick couldn't take the shot. He blinked heavily at the realization. No matter what that man had done, whether it be hurting his victim or hurting Amy, he couldn't put that bullet through his head. 

It wasn't that he was incapable. Dick had proven himself over and over on the range during training, proving he could hit dead center every time. Any gun would certainly work for him. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was, after nine months carrying and shooting the thing, it still wasn't a comfortable fit in his hand. The gun felt alien and wrong, like harbinger of death in a shiny metal casing. Every time his finger inched toward the trigger, he heard Batman's – Bruce's – voice in his head. _This is the weapon of the enemy. We do not_ _ **need**_ _it. We will not_ _ **use**_ _it._

Dick's mind ran a mile a minute, his hands still wrapped tightly around the gun. _I still have to save Amy and the other man. I can't save her unless I take down the guy or his gun. I can't get close to him without being shot. And a gun… is my only weapon._ His hand shook slightly around the gun. _I won't kill. I won't._

His eyes widened slightly. _But maybe I won't have to._

His eyes flashed back to the two men. The argument seemed to have stopped, and they were both staring at each other. The victim had his back to the squad car, and Dick had a full frontal view of the assailant. He literally couldn't get a better shot if Heaven had intervened. Squinting slightly, he spotted what he was aiming for. It was a small spot, almost impossible to hit, but Dick had done it before with a Batarang. He took a deep breath, aimed, and fired. 

In another universe, the shot would have hit its mark. The wind was still, there were no distractions, and Dick was one of the best marksmen to grace the face of the planet. In another, kinder universe, the shot would have been a perfect one. 

In this universe, however, things weren't quite so clear cut. In this universe, in the stillness of the night, in the calm before the shitstorm, the man with the gun saw the infinitesimal movement of Dick's shoulders as he took his deep breath. Dick's shot rang out, but the man had already moved, his gun gravitating like a magnet towards Dick's hiding spot. He wasn't fast enough. 

Dick saw the .40 S & W bullet strike the man, the bullet's force seeming to ripple through his body. The man dropped like a cut marionette, and Dick felt dread sinking to his stomach like a stone. In the same instant, the victim lay across the car hood with a quiet _fwump_. Dick had missed, and now…now everything was falling apart. 

Slowly, he rose from behind the car door. His footsteps were quiet but rang out in the silence as he made his way across the parking lot toward the two men, both of which were still as he approached. The light from above the parking lot shone down on their bodies, casting odd shadows across their faces. Dick's stomach churned. 

Coming up to the victim first, he paused as he took in the scene. The man had short, cropped hair, and large, muscular arms protruding from a blue polo. On one bicep he had a large tattoo. His entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and Dick could see deep purple shadows under his eyes. 

It wasn't any of this that caught his attention, however. Dick's eyes were drawn to the large bloodstain that started in the middle of his stomach and had dripped its way down to the top of his jeans. The amount of blood that was there…Dick steeled himself as he reached for the man's pulse on the side of his neck. Underneath the wet, sweaty skin he felt…nothing. Whoever this poor man was, Dick hadn't reached him in time. 

He turned to the other man. This man he knew without a doubt was dead. The man was Latino or Mexican in descent, and his whole torso was also covered in blood, albeit a higher wound. 

Dick had missed his mark, and now someone was dead. His palms were sweating against the barrel. He could only imagine Bruce's face if he found out his former student had just killed someone in cold blood. He could only imagine how his eyes would harden, turning on Dick as he walked away from someone who couldn't uphold his teachings. 

Dick had never killed before. Not with a Batarang, not with his hands…not with a gun. He'd taken every word Batman had told him to heart and practiced it like they were the commandments themselves. Because to Batman, they were. 

_We can't turn into that which we prey. If we do, there's no turning back._

What did that mean for him? 

A small cough echoed across the parking lot, and Dick's head whipped in the direction of the intrusion. His eyes found their way to the cop car, and Dick was moving before any conscious thought had entered his mind. 

Amy lay behind the cop car door, her eyes closed and her skin a sickly pale. Her shoulder was drenched in sticky red blood, and it spread with morbid viscosity onto the pavement around her. Without thinking, Dick placed his hands on her chest, ignoring the warm liquid underneath his hands as he tried to stop the blood flow. 

There had to be at least one person he could save tonight.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **A/N-** So, the race is officially started (it's an expression, I'm not actually racing). As for update schedule... honestly, I hate to make one at all, because then I won't update on time, and then people will be sad. So, my promise to you is that I'll update as frequently as I can. That is the best I can do. My muse is finicky, and I hate to update without something worthwhile. She so would do that to me too, btw.

And don't worry, the next chapter is thoroughly NCIS :)

Please read, review, favorite, follow...whatever your heart desires. I love to read comments/questions/concerns/ideas, because they keep me and my muse motivated


	2. It Couldn't Hurt

**A/N- Hey guys! I'm back with a new chapter, a little faster than I thought I would too! As promised, this introduces the NCIS family to this crossover, in what I hope is a natural, nonawkward way. There are lots of little things I've had to research to really feel like I know the characters, and it's crazy how much the two universes have to learn separately, let alone together! I'm trying to really get to know all these characters intimately, you know, understand their motives and mannerisms so I can do them justice in this. Otherwise, why write it, right? I also have a few Easter eggs in here, if you can find them :) Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2

Agent Tony DiNozzo honestly hoped they did nothing at all today. Something about the sound of sitting there, casually doing BS paperwork was so appealing to him. It wasn't just the fact that the warm sun was floating in through the large windows covering the far wall, melting him into his seat and making his tired joints relax. Although that was very nice. It wasn't the fact that it was a Monday after a very long, very arduous case that had left him and his teammates frustrated and exhausted. Although maybe that was a tiny factor. 

No, Tony was just a tiny bit hungover. Well, maybe more than a tiny bit. His headache was rocking in the back of his head like a bad 70's rock concert and the fluorescent lights overhead kind of made him feel like he was staring at the sun. He wasn't John Belushi in Animal House drunk, but still, a classic hangover remedy wouldn't do him any harm. Suffice to say, he really didn't want to put his big boy pants on and go shoot at people today. No thank you. 

He heard the elevator ding from across the bullpen, and he groaned internally as the sound reverberated a little in his skull. _What's wrong with them? Haven't they ever heard of common courtesy in the workplace?_

Ziva chuckled from across his desk, and Tony popped one eye open to see her and Tim watching him, matching coffee cups in hand. They even had the gall to look amused. Ugh. Morning people. 

Ziva sauntered closer to his desk, her curly brown hair slipping behind her shoulder. "Well, well, well Tony, did we catch you in the middle of a bat nap?" Her chocolate brown eyes were playful and mysterious. And Tony was not in the mood. 

"Cat. It's cat nap, Ziva." Did his voice really sound that rough in the morning? He even _sounded_ hungover. 

"She's right Tony. You look worse for wear. Spend all night trying to pick up a chick?" When did McGee start sounding so smug? Tony opened eyes, so as to glare more effectively at his annoying teammates. 

"Hey there, McSingle, no need to make fun. Sure, I had a lively couple of nights out. Yes, I'm now wishing I had mufflers or a pull out couch so I could sleep it off. But we've all been there. At least I went out this weekend at all. More than some of us can say." 

Ziva shrugged, and leaned against her desk nonchalantly as McGee dumped his backpack at his desk. "I did not go out this weekend Tony. In fact, I stayed at home and read a good book. And I do not look like death warmed over." She smiled knowingly. 

Tony was tempted to close his eyes and ignore them. "Thank you for that Ziva. It made me feel much, much better." He paused, trying to get his sluggish brain to form words, and then words into sentences. It was like trying to rearrange those big plastic letters on a fridge. "What about you McGoo? Were you moonlighting as ElfLord all weekend?" 

"No Tony, I was not. I was actually productive with my weekend. I wrote a little, and Sunday I went to the shooting range." 

Tony's head jerked up a little bit at that, and he watched McGee with renewed interest as his teammate innocently logged in at his desk. Consciously averting your eyes – always a sign of hiding something. "Shooting range huh? I didn't know you practiced in your spare time." 

Ziva chimed in, obviously trying to save McGee from Tony's razor sharp intuition. "I think it's normal for one to maintain your skills. There's nothing off about wanting to improve or test yourself." 

Tony's brain latched on to a word. "Improve, huh? Is this about what happened at the shipyard Friday night?" 

Tim's eyes widened fractionally. _That's a yes, then._ "Tony, I can go to the range if I want. There's nothing wrong with that. It doesn't have anything to do with Friday." 

Tony shrugged, wincing a bit as his head resisted the movement. "Sure. There's nothing wrong with it…if there were anyone else. You though…" 

Without a sound of warning Gibbs marched into the bullpen, his tan jacket whipping behind him. Tony knew there was no way of knowing when Gibbs would come in – he was a ninja like that, moving under the radar like a ghost in the shadows. Still, sometimes he wished he could sense his boss before he came. That would be a useful ability for the senior field agent to have, right? 

"Gear up." His voice, authoritative and clipped as ever, commanded all of them. 

"Aw, come on Boss. We just finished with a major case last week. Can't we have a little rest period? A little down time in between? Some more…" Tony's wheedling trailed off as he was fixed with a trademark Gibbs stare. Shit, that could stop a charging rhino in its tracks. He could feel Ziva and McGee's amusement directed at his useless finagling. 

"Did that sound like a suggestion to you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs lazer gaze was on him, and Tony was starting to feel the burn. 

"Ah, no Boss. I was just expressing my surprise at us already having a case lined up, is all…" 

Gibbs was already headed out, his hand double checking that his SIG Sauer P228 was in place. "Get your butt in gear, DiNozzo. We have a dead marine waiting for us." 

Tony trailed behind McGee and Ziva, his head pounding in rhythm with the pack slung across his shoulders. "It's gonna be a long day."

* * *

Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, and Tim made their way toward the crime scene. Gibbs headed their federal phalanx with an air that commanded respect, and his unquestionable silent authority had them waved under the yellow tape as they approached the homicide scene ahead. Two police cars were stationed in the lot, their respective officers standing in the vicinity, and Tony could see the larger, shorter man of the two practically baking into the pavement under the hot Bludhaven sun. Maybe he'd be happier chowing down on some donuts, Tony thought, bemused. 

Tony flipped out his notebook and Tim worked a professional camera out of his case as the sweaty, short officer headed toward their group, hand outstretched. Gibbs met him, a firm handshake shared between him. "You the feds, right? I'm Officer Talbot, and this is my partner Officer Singer." He gestured to a taller, thin man who nodded in acknowledgement. Tony tried to resist laughing – it was like human Bob and Larry from Veggie Tales. The shorter one even had rusty red hair. 

"Gibbs, NCIS. This is my team. Can you fill me in on what happened here?" Behind him, Tony heard the snapping of the camera as Tim started working the scene. 

"Sure, sure." Talbot turned to face the crime scene, and Gibbs followed his lead. "About 9:30 last night we got reports in of a confrontation not too far from here, with some shots fired. We had two officers arrive on scene, and there was a fire fight. The older cop was shot twice in the shoulder, but the trainee got a shot in the chest to the assailant here. Your marine guy was stabbed in the stomach somehow." He waved a sausage hand toward the scene, his run-through and attitude far too nonchalant. 

Tony's eyes followed the hand and took in the bloodbath before him. Because that was what it was – a bloodbath. The marine was laying across a grey car hood, his arms outstretched and eyes wide open. His stomach and the surrounding car hood were bathed in blood so much that it had dripped down the front of the car. There was no mistaking him as a marine; on his bulging bicep was the marine insignia, complete with eagle, globe, and anchor in bold black ink. 

In front of the marine, spread on the black pavement, was the other man. He was dark complexioned, clearly Mexican or at least Latino. In the middle of his black shirt was a bullet wound, and from it blood had obviously poured, to the point where it was surrounding him in blood. God. This scene may not have been one of the most gruesome Tony had ever seen, but the sheer amount of blood here was enough to make anyone want to upchuck. He could smell the iron, there was so much of it. 

As for the cops rundown of events…it was less than satisfactory. Tony could tell by the narrowing of Gibbs eyes that he thought the same. They were clearly dealing with substandard cops that were simply sent here to keep others away from the grisly scene. That was Bludhaven for you. 

"We're all just real surprised this happened, ya know," Talbot remarked. Gibbs glanced back at him. 

"Oh? How so," he questioned. His voice was cool, and Tony smirked. Gibbs was obviously angry they were sent to officers that were just babysitting the scene, but was just curious enough that he'd let the cop continue talking. 

"Officer Rohrbach is one of our best, senior officers. It's pretty hard to get the drop on her. So her being in the hospital and all, it's kind of a big deal. We're all just lucky her partner was the new kid." 

Tony raised an eyebrow at that statement. That was definitely not something you heard everyday. "Really? She was lucky to have a newbie with her, huh?" 

Talbot met his eyes and nodded vigorously. "Oh yeah. Can't remember his name…It's like Jason or something like that…Yeah. Anyway, he's a real natural apparently. Passed all the academy tests with flying colors – I actually heard he beat most of the high scores. People are saying he has a real way with it, you know, good instincts. I haven't talked to him or been on a ride along with him myself, but he saved Rohrbach's life, so he can't be all bad, right?" He shrugged. 

Tony nodded slowly. "Right. Well… thanks." The cop ambled back to his partner, and Tony turned back to the team. "Well ok then." He walked closer to the crime scene. "What do we got?" 

Tim looked up from the camera. "It'd be easier to ask what we don't have. Right now we have a stab victim and an assailant that was shot. He's obviously marine" he gestured to the man sprawled on a car "but the other guy we have no clue on. And clearly the police aren't going to be a great help." 

Tony squinted down at the squatting McGee. "Yeah, some great local LEOs are around here. And what's with all this prodigal son scuttlebutt?" 

Ziva looked up from her phone. "I think I may have some answers. The marine is ID'd as Sam Nicholas, Marine Lance Corporal who was stationed at Camp Pendleton. He was honorably discharged, and his family lives not too far from here. His mother reported him missing two weeks ago from California." She turned to the man sprawled on the pavement. "And he matches a BOLO for Carlos Fernandez. He's got several warrants out for his arrest, assuming it is him." 

"Ok, so why would a guy like Fernandez be after a good-standing Lance Corporal," Tony questioned. 

Ziva pocketed the phone. "I do not know. It sounds honky to me." 

"Wonky or hinky, Ziva. One of the two." 

She waved away the criticism with a flick of her wrist. "Yes, yes. My question is why would a man with a gun stab his victim? He obviously didn't care about being heard, so why the change? And where is the knife now?" 

They all looked silently back to the macabre scene, trying to click back the rewind button and see what had really happened that explosive night. 

"Sorry I'm late to the party Jethro." Everyone looked up to see Ducky, who ambled in with his familiar pale cap that covered all around and his navy blue NCIS lab coat. He was pulling on a pair of latex gloves as he walked. 

"No Palmer today Ducky?" Tim spoke up from beside Fernandez. 

"No, not today. Mr. Palmer is on a cruise through the Bahamas this week, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me." 

"No such thing Duck. What do you got for us," Gibbs asked, his voice calmly insistent. 

"Let me see…" Ducky made his way over to the marine, and leaned over the body, peering through his glasses. "Stab wound to the abdomen…most likely struck the stomach. I'd say he bled out quickly, but I'll need to double check on cause of death." Sticking the corpse quickly, he checked the temperature. "I'd put time of death at… around ten last night." 

He moved on to the body of Fernandez, leaning in and examining the bullet wound in the chest. After a moment he settled back on his knees. "As for this man…I can tell you with almost complete certainty what the cause of death was." 

"Well yeah, Ducky. Most people don't walk away from a bullet to the chest," Tony quipped. 

Dr. Mallard gazed up to look at him. "Not in all cases Tony. It's very possible to simply hit a cavity, or pop a lung and still live. There have been cases of individuals who were shot several times and still lived. I once worked on a man who was shot thirteen times, and walked away four hours later with nothing more than stitches and a prescription for some pain medication. His young son thought the automatic was a toy. Indeed, it all depends on the severity of the case, and the placement of the wound." He paused to look down at the wound in the chest. "And this shot is incredibly well placed." 

Tony could have sworn a vein was about to burst in Gibbs skull. "Duck…" The meaning was clear—spell it out for me. 

Ducky gave a little sigh. "If I'm correct, and I believe I am, this is a clean shot through the aorta. In the dark, with a moving target, I think that would prove to be a very difficult target to hit. You're probably looking at someone who is extremely lucky or an extremely good sharpshooter. I daresay we're dealing with someone who is possibly as good a shot as you, Jethro." 

Gibbs looked at Ducky, his expression on his face indecipherable. After a moment, he turned and walked back to the car, his steps brisk and his stride smooth. Ducky's brows furrowed in confusion, and he glanced at the team. "Something I said?" 

"No Ducky, nothing with you. We just found out the shot was from a cop in training, that's all," Tony responded. 

Ducky looked thoughtful. "Hmm. Quite the young marksmen, I'd say. Perhaps we have another Simo Hayha on our hands. He was nicknamed the White Death, and for good reason too – he had 705 confirmed deaths on his hands, the highest recorded confirmed kills as a sniper in any war ever. Took out entire battalions by disguising himself in the snow, even had snow in his mouth to keep his breath from condensing! It was in the war between Russia and Finland, the 'Winter War' they used to call it. It was rumored in less than 100 days he was credited with 505 confirmed kills, but some of that was unsubstantiated of course. He ended up with a broken jaw, but he still lived—" 

"Ducky." Tony and Tim spoke in unison. 

Ducky was shocked out of his anecdote, and Tony could see the moment he landed back on Earth. He glanced between the two men, and nodded. "Right then. Back to work I go." He leaned back over the corpse he was working on, and Tony gave a little shudder as he turned away. Dead people. 

"Tony," Ziva called out his name. Turning, he grinned. In Ziva's gloved hand dangled one of the pieces of the puzzle. It was the knife used to stab Nicholas in the stomach – that much was fairly obvious from the dark blood coating the blade all the way up to the hilt. Upon closer inspection, the knife was actually elegant. The silver blade was slightly curved, and the hilt was a hard wood inset with intricate carvings and symbols. It looked priceless. 

"Ziva, this is why you're my favorite. Get that bagged and tagged." Tony turned to go back, but Ziva stopped him. 

"I found more." He turned to look at what she was pointing at. It was faint, but he could see it – a scattering of white powder on the dark pavement. "What do you think it is?". 

He crouched to look closer, but he couldn't see anything more. "I don't know. Might be nothing, might be something. Bag it anyway." 

He joined McGee as they stood over the scene. Silently they appraised the bodies being loaded up into the back of the NCIS van, hidden away under black bags. 

Tony hoped this would be a calmer case, where the answers came easy and everything would resolve itself naturally. He knew that wasn't part of what they did, wasn't really part of the job description, but he couldn't help it. The last case had been taxing, and he knew he wasn't the only one running on reserves, or wasn't all here. McGee had obviously proved that this morning – he was out shooting at ranges now, trying to step up his game and make sure what had happened Friday never happened again. 

As if he had read Tony's mind, McGee spoke up from beside him. "At least we'll get to meet this Jason kid, right?" 

Tony turned to look at him, incredulous. "Why is _that_ what you're looking forward to?" 

Tim gave him a look before returning to pensiveness. "Obviously we need more information. He was the only one who made it through this thing unharmed, so he's naturally our best bet at getting a reliable picture of what happened here." 

Yes but… "You want to know how he does it, don't you? You want to know how he got as scary as Gibbs with a gun, but you don't want to actually ask Gibbs." 

Tim met his eyes, and a look passed between them that was pure understanding. "Couldn't hurt, could it?" He walked toward the car, and Tony stared after him. 

Yeah, guess it couldn't hurt.

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 **TBC- Thanks all for reading! I have everything in this story mapped out where I want it to go, and now it's just down to doing the actual writing (arguably the hardest part, I know). Things glided better than I thought they would in this chapter actually, and I'm excited for the next! Look forward to the first meeting of the NCIS gang and Dick :)**

 **Please read, review, favorite, and follow- all of those little things that spur my writing to be elaborate, detailed, and faster to update!**


	3. Spark of Recognition

**A/N- Another chapter of this lovely crossover is now ready for your viewing! It's one of my longest yet, because I kept getting carried away with myself. I really put my nose to the grindstone on this one, and while I feel I had a lot of expectations riding on this chapter (in my head anyway), it turned out well. The meeting of two universes is always hard, especially when you're expecting so much from both. You're looking to see how the characters react, and who will mesh and who won't, and all the while you're trying to keep everyone in character and true to their respective portrays. It's pretty exhausting. The phrase 'What Would Gibbs Do' will eventually drive you crazy, I've found.**

 **I want to thank Crawcolady and Cindar for their wonderful reviews. You guys are awesome!**

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Chapter 3

The team pulled up into the Bludhaven Police Department parking lot, and instantly McGee was scrambling out of the car, his breath labored and his face devoid of any color as he leaned over his knees. Tony chuckled as he, Ziva, and Gibbs all smoothly made their way out of the vehicle. "That is a lovely shade of eggshell, McQueasy. Bet you wish you hadn't eaten that third burrito now, huh?" McGee groaned in response, but slowly rose to follow them into the one story building. 

Once inside, Tony couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Bludhaven. They were understaffed, over budget, and were clearly just keeping their heads afloat. In a town that was overrun with criminal activity and economically floundering, it was always police departments that got hit hardest. It was obvious from their outdated computers and peeling paint on the walls that they were due for a renovation, but were making due with what they had. Poor suckers. Tony made a mental note to stop complaining about the air conditioning back at their offices. 

A long counter ran the length in front of them, and behind the cheap stucco material sat two receptionists. They were completely preoccupied, but not with the computers off to either side of them. The blonde and the brunette, both very attractive in Tony's book, didn't even notice the doors open at the front of the building. They only had eyes for the cop leaning his elbows onto the counter, who was still fully dressed in his navy blue officer uniform. _Man, how does a guy get that lucky,_ Tony wondered as both women blinked seductively at the officer. 

The blonde laughed, and placed her hand against the cop's arm. "No way Dick. Well, if you can, I'd love to come on a ride along with you. Obviously you'd keep me safe." Tony smirked. _Obvious much?_

The brunette glanced up and saw the group standing there by the door. Tony saw the moment she switched from sorority girl to professional, and it just made him want to laugh out loud. Although he could hardly fault the guy…rule number 12. "How can I help you," she asked. 

The cop turned to face the group, and immediately Tony saw why the two women were engrossed in their conversation with the officer. The man, who was actually barely a man and more a late teenager, looked like he belonged on the front of a billboard, not in a crumbling city's poor police department. He had a defined jaw and a slight olive complexion, and swept back midnight hair. But it was his eyes that really caught Tony's attention – the young man's eyes were a startling sapphire blue, like that of a gem. He wasn't sure he had ever seen eyes that… _blue_. 

In the instant it took for Dick to turn around, Tony saw the young officer see their group and make eye contact with him. And in that split second he saw it – a spark of recognition went across Dick's face. It was a mixture of surprise and glee so fleeting that Tony almost wasn't sure he saw it. Dick's face had only betrayed him for a second, and now Tony watched on as the officer's face showed nothing but interest at the new arrivals. Maybe he was just imagining things. 

"Are you guys the NCIS agents?" His eyes were bright and curious, but Tony suspected he already knew the answer to his own question. 

"Yes. We're here to speak to Lieutenant Seeder," Ziva replied. The young man observed her for a minute, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and then nodded. 

"Follow me." He gave a wave to the receptionists and turned and headed further into the police station. As they followed him down a musty hallway, Tony couldn't help but wonder what the look the kid had given him was. It was definitely weird, and he knew enough from Gibbs to know when to follow his gut. 

They stopped on the edges of the bullpen, and the NCIS agents stood as Dick exchanged a short word with a fellow officer. "Well," he said, turning back to them, "Lieutenant Seeder is in a meeting right now, but you can wait here while he wraps things up." He gestured to some plastic waiting room chairs that looked like they'd seen better days. "Feel free to wait here. Apparently he shouldn't be too long." 

Ziva smiled her appreciation. "Thank you Officer…" 

"Grayson. Dick Grayson." He shook her hand, and Tony squinted. Grayson…the name struck a bell somewhere in the undusted corners of his mind. Why did that name sound so familiar to him? Maybe it was just the near James Bond quote getting to him. 

The team settled into the chairs. Tony wasn't the neatest person in the world, but something about these chairs definitely made him want to ask for something sterile to wipe them down with. Dick sat at the desk nearest them gingerly, and turned on the monitor to the computer. No flat screen or LED monitors for Bludhaven, no sirree. God, that thing was a dinosaur. 

Tony couldn't resist. Being the closest one to Dick, he leaned closer. Dick's eyes met his in an instant. "You gotta tell me…those receptionists at the front desk…as good as they seem?" 

Dick's face split into a wide grin, and he let out a short laugh as he rolled his eyes. "Carly and Samantha? Are you serious?" Tony could feel his team's eyes on the back of his head following the conversation. 

Tony gave him an answering smile, and he cocked his head in confirmation. "Well yeah. It was pretty obvious from where I was standing. Not bad, dude." 

"No way. They asked me to help with the new security system for the station. We recently updated to the Wenz 3000 model, and they were having trouble with it." 

Tony raised his eyebrows at that. Please. Either this kid's spirit animal was a virgin or he had no idea of the raw sexual power he possessed over the women around him. He clearly needed to be educated. "That's not what it looked like to me. And believe me, I have a sense for these things." 

Dick looked bemused as he leaned back in his chair. "I think you may want to get your senses checked. Besides, I don't date coworkers." 

Huh. Who would've known the little stud muffin had his own rule 12? Tony could feel an inkling of respect drift from him to the raven haired officer. 

On Tony's left, McGee leaned forward a little in his chair and directed his attention toward Dick. "I couldn't help but overhear…Did you say the Wenz 3000 model?" 

Oh God. Tony could practically feel the nerdage seeping from McGee just from those seven words. McGeek was on the tip of a full out nerd attack, where words spewed out of him that made no sense and held no meaning in Tony's mind. And he didn't know what he could do to stop him. 

Dick glanced at the computer and back at McGee. "Yeah, I convinced the Lieutenant to convince the chief to get it for us. The way I figured it, this way we're at least covered on this end, even if we aren't on the streets." 

McGee leaned forward further, like a kid with a shiny new toy. "How does it run?" God, it wouldn't be long before he was skipping. 

Dick grinned conspiratorially. "Like a charm. It takes a little getting used to, but it's so worth it. Targeted attacks on suspicious IP addresses, with a constant watch on all activity in the system, and the ability to quarantine threats as soon as they breach the outer wall." 

Oh my god. Tony couldn't believe it. Dick was one of them – he was a techie. He never would have imagined Dick gushing technobabble and being the next Elf Lord, but now he didn't know. Obviously he'd judged the kid at first glance. Now he had nerd to add to the list of things Dick was. 

McGee practically sighed. "Man, you're so lucky." 

Dick let loose a short laugh, but looked up beyond the group. Entering the bullpen and heading toward the seated team could be no other than Lieutenant Singer. He was a medium sized guy, obviously built, with thick wavy blonde hair. He sidled straight toward Gibbs. "You Agent Gibbs?" His voice was gruff and firm. 

Gibbs stood and took his outstretched hand. "I am. And this is my team." The rest stood and each took his beefy hand in turn, introducing themselves as they went. 

The lieutenant addressed them all. "I'm glad you're here. Honestly, we're capable of dealing with the basics here, because that's what Bludhaven is about. But once we get into the real involved stuff, I feel much more comfortable letting the professionals do what they do best, whether it be the feds or Nightwing. We're not exactly equipped, as I'm sure you've heard. And I see you've met Grayson here." He clasped a large hand on Dick's shoulder, and Tony could have sworn he saw the young man wince momentarily. "If not for him, we might have lost Officer Rohrbach last night. He kept a very cool head, as I'm sure you've read in the report." 

For a second, Tony was speechless. As Gibbs responded back with a chilly "We didn't receive a report," Tony was trying to wrap his head around the fact that the kid they'd spent the last 30 minutes with was actually who they'd needed to find all along. Right here in front of them this whole time. This was the kid who pulled the trigger on the shot that rivaled Gibbs, the newbie who'd saved his partners life and set new hiscores on most of his academy tests. Not that Tony knew that last one for certain – after all, Officer Talbot had said they were looking for a Jason, which they obviously weren't. 

He was seeing Dick Grayson in a whole new light, and Tony could feel the others beside him doing the same thing—taking a moment to analyze the young man before him. McGee looked at him with incredulous surprise, like he was some foreign object that he couldn't understand, even though they'd been chatting less than a minute before. Obviously Tony wasn't the only one having trouble fitting Dick into a category that made sense. Ziva, on the other hand, was appraising him with the curiosity of a cat. Tony could practically see her tail flicking. 

Lieutenant Singer frowned. "I know we faxed one to your office this morning. I'm sorry about the confusion—I can get you another." 

Tony could have sworn he saw Gibbs mouth drift upward a tiny, tiny bit. "That's alright. We can conduct an interview if it's all the same." 

The lieutenant glanced at Dick and back, and shrugged. "That's perfectly fine with me. Officer Grayson is at your disposal, seeing as Officer Rohrbach is still in the hospital. I can give you a meeting room if you need it." Gibbs nodded and Singer led the way down another hallway to a room with a long, scratched wooden table and dry-erase boards lining the walls. 

Dick settled into a chair across from Gibbs, and Singer took his leave, closing the door with a tap behind him. An uncomfortable silence settled into the room as everyone stared at Dick with varied expressions, and he looked on at Gibbs, his face carefully innocent. Ziva leaned up against the wall behind Gibbs, and Tony sat in a chair backwards a few feet from the table, his head resting on his crossed arms. McGee sat a chair down from Gibbs, his eyes lazering in on Dick. 

Gibb's spoke first. His voice carried across the ocean of silence. "Why didn't you tell us you were Dick Grayson?" 

Dick smirked at him. "Isn't that what I introduced myself as?" God, who knew this kid was such a smartass? 

Gibbs's stare at the young cop was quickly bordering upon a glare. "Why didn't you tell us you were the one at the scene of the crime?" 

Tony could have sworn the smirk on Dick's face was growing, which was a surprise considering the look Gibbs was leveling at him. Most normal people would be peeing their pants a little by then. "You never asked." 

Tony had to interrupt at this point. "Didn't you suspect as NCIS agents we were here to talk to you about last night?" 

The officer shrugged. "You said you were here to see Lieutenant Singer. As for talking to me, well, you could have read my report. It was very thorough." 

"I don't want to read your report," Gibbs nearly growled. Tony watched on as Dick watched him for a moment. It almost looked like Dick was analyzing Gibbs, assessing him and sizing him up, not as a threat, but seemingly with…respect. All the while a small smile played on the corners of his lips. 

He then sat up straighter in his chair, and Tony saw his face transform into something different. Something more serious, and not Dick at all. "I was on a patrol with Officer Rohrbach when we received a call for a 245, an assault with a deadly weapon, on Roosevelt and 9th. We responded. When we arrived at the parking lot, there was no one in sight. Rohrbach got out of the car, and three shots fired from the spot where the assailants had hidden. There were three men, two assailants and one victim, who was a Marine and somehow impaired. Rohrbach fired three more rounds, and the perps hid behind a car. They fired three more times, and my partner was hit in the shoulder twice and went down. I moved to assist her, but they started firing on the car. I exited out the other side while they continued shooting. After a moment, I got a visual and saw one of the assailants running away but didn't have time to get a lock on him. The other man stayed with the victim, and it was clear they were arguing. I had a clear shot on him, and I took it." Dick's face grew dark and cloudy. "I hit him in the chest. I approached the scene, and saw the Marine had been stabbed in the chest. The other man was dead. I returned to my partner and called an ambulance and tried to stop the bleeding." Tony stared. Well that was…thorough. 

Gibbs nodded. This military precision was obviously something he could understand and appreciate. "What can you tell us about the three men?" 

"The man who ran away was 5'9", roughly 170 pounds, with short blonde hair. He was wearing a black long sleeve shirt and dark jeans. My best guess as to his identity would be assassin or contract killer of some variety." 

DiNozzo held up a hand. "Wait, backup there newbie. Are you telling me that you think a man who wet his pants a little at the first sign of conflict was a contract killer out to get a simple Lance Corporal? That doesn't sound very Jason Bourne to me." 

Dick met his eyes. "He got the job done, didn't he?" He paused for a moment, and silence reigned over the conference room as everyone mulled over the words. "He had a gun, what looked like a Beretta 87 or something similar, but he didn't use it at all. For all the bleeding that occurred when I looked at the scene the Marine had to have been stabbed a little before the argument, just due to blood loss. The man was perfectly capable of stabbing him with the knife while I ducked for cover, and then hightailing it out of there. He got his target, and got out. Seems efficient and ruthless to me. I bet you wouldn't even find any prints. Besides, the knife was unique enough to be a calling card of sorts. It doesn't seem like something a soldier would use. I could be wrong, but I'm probably not. Don't just believe what I'm telling you—double check for yourself." 

Tony stared at him for a second. Holy shit. Not only was the kid clearly a deductive genius, he also had practically spelled out rule three. Did he borrow Gibbs' rulebook when they weren't looking? "Well ok, Sherlock, let's leave that for the time being. What about Carlos Fernandez—the man who stayed?" 

Dick interlaced his fingers and continued. "The one who stayed behind and argued with the Marine was obviously Latino. I'd make him as a solider for hire, with obvious military training." He unlaced his fingers and they started fluttering on the worn table top. 

Tony pried his eyes away the distracting digits. "Oh, and how did you deduce that?" 

The olive fingers danced a little dance across the table in an unknown beat. "All of his bullets were incredibly well placed. Officer Rohrbach was lucky to avoid them as long as she did. When he did hit her, the grouping was tight and close to a nerve. He stayed to fight though, and that's the mark of a soldier, not someone who flits in and out of the battlefield. He also reacted very quickly when he realized I was gunning for him." His fingers froze, and then resumed drumming. 

Gibbs took the figurative baton from Tony and continued. "Tell us about Lance Corporal Sam Nicholas, the Marine. You knew he was Marine from the start?" 

Dick looked at him, and as he always did when he was looking at Gibbs, there was a flicker of recognition and respect that seemed to go far deeper than someone who had just met another person a little under an hour ago. "Yes. From the hair, build, and tattoo, I knew he was a marine as soon as I saw him." Tony briefly wondered if Dick could tell Gibbs was a marine just by looking at him. 

"You said he looked impaired?" 

The fluttered fingertips sped up briefly, then slipped back into a stately adagio. "He couldn't support his own weight, and while he was fighting the two, there wasn't any real strength behind what he was doing. Could have been drugs, intoxication…either way, it was pretty clear he was out of it. I tried to get to him in time, but it was too late." 

The room lapsed back into silence, and it seemed everyone was lost in their own thoughts. Finally Tony breached the void, and stood up. "Well, thank you Officer Grayson. You've really helped us fill in some of the gaps." He led Dick to the door, and shook his hand. 

"It was no problem, really. I'm glad I could help." He turned for the door when Gibbs spoke up one last time. 

"Who's Nightwing?" 

Dick turned, appraising him with sapphire eyes. He looked…guarded. Slowly he answered in measured tones. "He's the local vigilante. He busts a lot of local drug rings and street crime, sometimes stuff a little more serious. Runs around in full costume. He's actually pretty cool, and he's done a lot for the community and for the police. Not everyone sees it that way though." Gibbs nodded his acknowledgement, and Dick left, closing the door behind him. 

"Oh my god." Tony looked at the rest of the group. "You think we're dealing with another kid Justice League all over again?" He couldn't believe it. He hoped that was what this was—their past involvement with the group of young talented superheroes had turned into one of their most exciting missions ever. The entire experience was surreal, and firmly implanted into his memory. 

"I don't think so. The lieutenant and Grayson only mentioned one superhero in the city," Ziva replied. Nonetheless, she looked excited too. Tony couldn't blame her—she had fought alongside the heroes (even if they were young) and held her own relatively well. He knew that had been a proud moment for Ziva, and had helped her when she was starting to doubt her abilities. 

"What's it been, seven years? I wonder what ever happened to them? Did any of you ever keep up with them," McGee wondered aloud. Tony could see who McGee was really thinking of. There had been a number of talented teens in the group, and all resonated with the NCIS team who had worked with them. There had been Superboy, the dark haired relative of Superman with impressive strength and the even more impressive temper. Kid Flash, the talkative teen with super speed, had flummoxed and annoyed all with his nonstop chatter and constant whining. This had annoyed Artemis, who was the expert ranger clad in green leather whose snark and sarcasm was directed mainly at Kid Flash. M'gann was the most outlandish of the group, and had certainly given the NCIS team a shock when they discovered she was green and possessed the powers of telepathy and telekinesis, but she quickly proved harmless when they learned of her bubbly attitude and eager to please nature. Aqualad was a little less ostentatious than M'gann, but his gills and powers of hydrokinesis were unusual to say the least. His steady voice and even temperament were evidence of the reasons he led the young superhero group. 

The teen Tony knew McGee was thinking of was the true leader of the group, however. Robin may have been the youngest and the smallest, but it was obvious from the way the rest of the group deferred to him that he was the natural leader of the teens, and would take his place when he was old enough to shoulder the responsibility. He had quickly made an impression on the NCIS team with his sharp wit, quick thinking, and catlike reflexes. It also didn't hurt that he was the most relatable of the group. Artemis may have been human too, but Robin's easy going personality and obvious likeability made the NCIS naturally gravitate toward him. 

"I don't know," Tony answered, half answering and half reliving the memories of that fateful case. "It's hard to get news updates on the Justice League, let alone their secret teenage undercover doppelgangers." 

"I kept in touch with Robin for a while," Gibbs stated quietly. The rest of the team turned to look at him in shock. 

McGee became alight with a sort of frenzied interest. "Seriously? Gibbs, what did he say? How did you stay in contact? Did he tell you anything about the team's missions or anything they'd—" 

"McGee." Gibb's gave him a hard stare, and it said everything he needed to say. 

"Sorry boss." McGee sat back in his seat, and Tony felt a little sad as he watched him. He couldn't blame McGee, honestly. There were some days early on when he was desperate for some kind—any kind—of evidence that the superhero team actually existed and wasn't just a figment of the group's collective imagination. 

Clearly Tony wasn't the only one to take pity on McGee, because when Gibbs spoke again, it was to answer Tim's question. The team paid rapt attention. "He never said anything. It was just a gift every Christmas for the first five years. One year it was bourbon, another it was a picture of the team. But I haven't got anything for the past two years." 

The team fell silent again, the sadness tangible in the air. For their team, radio silence had never been a good sign. For Ziva, it had meantbeing held captive as a hostage in a hostile camp for months. It was hard for them to think of anything bad happening to the small boy, or the rest of the team. Tony knew that for Gibbs…it was like losing Kelly all over again. 

Tony turned back to the team and tried to distract them with a new topic. "Ok. It wasn't just me who didn't believe any of Grayson's hype, right?" 

Ziva pushed herself off the wall and looked clearly at Tony. "He has remarkable skill for a young police officer, especially in a place as derelict as this. He certainly lives up to his reputation." 

"I didn't like him," muttered McGee. Everyone's heads turned to look at him, and he looked up, as if the words had come out of their own volition. He remained the course. "What? He's too good. He notices everything, he knows computers, he's a great shot…someone can't be skilled at _everything_ like that." 

"Wow McEnvy, is that a little green monster I see? Let me tell ya, green is not a good color on you. Just because the kid knows how to shoot and speak technobabble doesn't mean he's bad news. I personally think he got lucky. He's not skilled at everything, he just got a lucky shot in. As for all the Sherlock Holmes mumbo jumbo, it was mostly guesswork. Sure, he was observant, but doesn't mean we're dealing with an assassin and a rogue soldier. I think he was just pulling our legs." 

Gibbs interceded. "I think he's a kid who gave us what we needed. McGee…" 

"Get a sketch of assassin man and put out a BOLO, and check facial recognition software for all public cameras in the city for any of the three men." 

"DiNozzo…" 

"Call the families of Fernandez and Nicholas." 

"Ziva…" 

"I do not know what there is left to do Gibbs." 

"Get me all you can on Nightwing."

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 **TBC**

 **A/N- I love it when you read, review, favorite and follow, so float me your questions, comments, concerns, general wonderments, what you liked/disliked, and ideas, etc... They're like fuel for my rocketship of inspiration :)**


	4. One-Way Glass

**A/N- I'm back! Sorry for the delay guys. I know it's been a little while, and I apologize. Even during summer, my life is hectic- I have a full time job and a class I'm taking at the local college. Not to mention it's summer and I like to get outside and have some fun! Just saying. There's a reason a update schedule totally wouldn't work for me.**

 **Also, sorry if this chapter is a little more slower. It's a filler chapter, but it's a necessary evil. I don't know if I like it or not, honestly. So, opinions are great.**

 **I want to thank Cindar, dlsky, and the 2 Guests that reviewed last time. You guys rock!**

* * *

Chapter 4

"Give me an update." 

Gibb's stern words were spoken aloud and the command seemed to bounce uncomfortably off the spotty stone walls around their heads. Tony saw Tim wince faintly out of the corner of his eye, and for once, he couldn't blame the guy in the slightest. The few words out of Gibbs mouth had been the first syllables spoken in hours; they had all been hunched over their respective computers, researching and getting up to speed on their case and Gibbs had literally just walked in, from doing who knows what. All of this would have been much easier if they were back in the comforts of their own bullpen, had their own computers, their own big screens, and their own desks. Oh, what Tony wouldn't give for his comfy desk chair right about now, instead of one that seemed to be working his back into cinched knots. God, when did he start to get so old? 

"I have quite a bit on Nightwing," Ziva started off, head looking up from her workspace at the long table, where she was surrounded by a laptop and scattered newspapers. "Reports indicate he's been in town anywhere from ten months to a year, based on his known activity. He started out leaving street thugs and petty criminals for the police—" 

"Wait," Tony intoned. "Leaving? Define leaving." 

"Apparently," Ziva referenced her papers in front of her, "handcuffed and not too worse for wear. In some cases, like house fires and injuries, a 911 call will be made and a deep voice will request assistance. He'd always be gone by the time ambulances and fire trucks arrived, however." 

"Are we talking a Keith David deep or a James Earl Jones deep", Tony asked. Ziva gave him a quizzical look and continued. 

"He's since moved up to targeting higher on the criminal ladder. There were two fairly large drug busts that didn't just involve catching the merchandise, but also a sizeable portion of the cartel itself that had been avoiding the police's reach, including the bosses involved. He even left evidence so that several ended up being successfully tried and sentenced." 

"What a considerate masked hoodlum," Tim said, a caustic edge to his voice. 

Tony whipped his head around, his eyes wide as saucers. He couldn't believe what he was hearing McGee say. "You shut your mouth right now, McJudgy. You are literally bashing on one of the coolest people slash potential aliens on our planet, which is seriously damaging any and all street cred you may have accumulated. This guy jumps from rooftops, busts drug cartels, and saves people nightly. How in the world can you have a problem with him?" 

Tim delivered a patronizing glare, but it just made Tony want to chuckle under his breath. After Gibbs, no one could scare him. "It's easy Tony. He breaks the law. There are rules and regulations against almost every single thing this guy is doing, and he doesn't care! He pretends to apprehend criminals and deliver justice, but that's what the police are for, and he's just not willing to admit it. He's not special, strong, or heroic, he's a criminal, just like the guys he's catching out on the streets. You only like him because he's practically a character out of one of your movies. " Cue McGee smug arm cross. 

"Are you kidding? Of course that's why I love this guy! He's like Arnold in Predator or Terminator, Mel Gibson in Braveheart, Harrison Ford in Star Wars, Stallone as Rambo…He's the stuff of movies, and I don't see why that's such a bad thing! He's helping the police, not hurting them. He catches the nutballs that slip through the cracks, and he does a damn good job of it too. I bet the police are even glad he's here." 

"Well," Ziva interceded, "officially there's a warrant out for Nightwing's arrest for trespassing, obstruction of justice, and the like—" 

"Told you!" 

"—shut up McGee. The police have maintained their official position on the matter, but it's pretty clear that what he's doing is helping the area. Crime is down nine percent, and that's in one year with him. You heard Lieutenant Singer – those actually dedicated to helping the city appreciate the assistance he's giving." 

Tim raised his chin mulishly. "Since when have we started applauding the people who take the law into their own hands?" 

"When they get the job done." Gibbs tone left no room for argument. "Is there any way to track him or get eyes on him?" 

Ziva shuffled through her papers and looked back up at Gibbs. "As far as I can see, no. There are blogs following his activities, but most are of questionable origin and solid information is scarce. Several request being the mother of his children, which I do not understand…" 

Gibbs's gaze was steely at best. "No pictures? No physical evidence?" 

Ziva shook her head and turned the computer screen around for all to see. The three of them leaned in, and on a page labeled "Night Watch" they saw a series of dark, blurry shape flitting between buildings and in the shadows. It was clearly a person, but that was really all they had. "This is the best I could find. According to several eyewitness reports of people he's saved, he wears a full body black spandex suit and a mask." 

"Well, at least he's human," Tim said grudgingly. 

Ziva regarded him with a dubious expression on her face. "With our experience, can we really make that assumption McGee?" The team was silent for a moment as they thought of the implications behind this. Ziva was right – a humanoid figure did not a human make. Beings like Superman and M'gann were proof that they could always be dealing with something much more strange and sinister. 

Gibbs gave Ziva a searching look. "What do you think?" Tony knew Gibbs about as well as anyone could, and he could read between the lines of what his boss was really asking, and why he was asking Ziva. He wanted her expert opinion as a former Mossad agent and assassin. 

Ziva's dark eyes lingered for a long time on Gibbs, and her expression was inscrutable. She knew what Gibbs was asking just as well as Tony did. "He's professionally trained. He avoids cameras with a skill I have never seen before—it indicates he may very well know where all public cameras are. Obviously he's been in and out of many different locations, and yet he has never tripped motion sensors or set off any alarms, showing he has knowledge in escapology and stealth. As for the swinging from rooftops…It is reminiscent of someone we've met before, yes?" 

"So…Batman in tights?" Tony shook his head at the thought. After meeting the stoic Justice League member just the once, he still couldn't shake the feeling that the Dark Knight was every bit the badass that everyone made him out to be…and more. 

Gibbs was silent, and Tony could see the gears grinding away in the agent's head. He knew that Gibbs asking for intel on Nightwing was no random request. After years of working with the man, and seeing the fine-tuned machine that he was, Tony had no doubt that if Gibbs had a reason for doing something, it was always a damn good one. He was a needle that always pointed north, and if they followed his direction, they always got the bad guy. 

"McGee, the BOLO?" Translation: it's useful information to have on this guy. There are more pressing matters at hand, but keep it in mind for later. 

Tim's fingertips hovered over the keyboard. "In the system Boss, but no hits yet. Facial recognition hasn't caught anything on him either, but Fernandez and Nicholas were both seen near the corner of a gas station a block from where the shoot out occurred. They appear to be arguing in this shot too, but no sign of the blonde man." 

Gibbs nodded and turned to Tony. "DiNozzo?" 

"Called both the families. The number listed for Fernandez ended up being the landline to a Pizza Hut. I cross referenced all past and current employees with Fernandez and nothing came up, so I'm assuming he was the type of guy who has a deep, undying love for pizza and wings. Obviously he's not a man of great taste if Pizza Hut if his go to, I'm more a Papa John's man myself. There something about the sauce that's just so—" DiNozzo gave a little squeak as a Gibbs slap was delivered to the back of his head. Ow, that smarted. "Sorry boss. Couldn't find a line on Fernandez's family, but I did find an apartment address. Also called around for Nicholas, and got the answering machine on all numbers listed. But I have an address for him too." 

"Alright. Gear up."

* * *

Gibbs' hands gripped his gun with iron clad resolution as DiNozzo approached the door. "NCIS, open up!" The shout rang out through the hallways and all was silent and still as they sat, tense as piano strings. They stared at the door and the door stared blankly back. 

_That's long enough,_ Gibbs thought. With a burst of strength, he drew back his body weight and kicked the door in with all his might. In an instant he was through the door and his eyes were everywhere, scanning the room for red numbers counting down, suspicious packages, blood, guns—the usual. Instead he was met with an unattractive apartment comprised mostly of filth. Wrappers and empty containers littered the kitchen counters, and clothes were scattered and dumped on the floor. The grey carpet had several questionable stains, and where there wasn't stains there was dust balls. Gibbs wrinkled his nose in distaste as he caught a whiff of garbage and decay. Disgusting. 

Tony and Gibbs worked through the rest of the small apartment, seeing more of the same as they went. The only sound made was their shoes scuffing the carpet and "Clear!" that punctuated the still apartment. No one was home. 

"You think someone got spooked and flew the coop Boss," Tony asked aloud as they regrouped in the living room and kitchen. Gibbs heard him, but his eyes were now doing a slow search of the place, scanning as carefully as a bomb dog. 

It was a fair question, and one he was glad Tony had asked. "Maybe. In this mess it's hard to tell. Nothing to indicate a woman or partner, and nothing left unfinished." 

Tony made a face at an open pizza box revealing a large thick crust in various stages of decomposition. "I'm not so sure about that Boss. Euch, it's like seeing the home of Dennis Nedry from Jurassic Park. Complete dumping ground." Gibbs didn't say anything. He was sure the reference meant something, but he let it slide as he did most of DiNozzo's allusions to the cinematic universe. It wasn't worth the time to ask him what he meant. 

His eyes wandered to the living room, which was in just as bad a condition. There were paths worn among the random piles of crap, and Gibbs saw one led from the TV to the couch. The scratched wooden coffee table in front of the loveseat caught his eye, and it only took a brief moment to realize why—it was too clean. The entire apartment was a rat's nest, and yet there wasn't a single item on top of the coffee table. Definitely suspicious. Another smaller path led from the table to a small closet to the left of the TV. 

Gibbs cautiously made his way through to the closet, taking care not to step in anything questionable. Which was actually pretty difficult, considering. The closet door creaked open to reveal…cases. Lots and lots of cases. Briefcases, suitcases, small and large purses. There were bags and luggage of every size, shape, color, and material, all stacked meticulously and with more care than the entire apartment combined. _This_ Carlos clearly cared about. 

He took out a leather briefcase, and opened it up slowly. Inside was meticulously arranged baggies of heroin, pristine and white in their orderly rows. Gibbs was no drug trafficking expert, but he knew this was china white heroin in its purest form, and that he was staring at hundreds of thousands of dollars in this case alone. All the cases together…millions, easily. 

"Shit," Tony said over his shoulder. "I guess the drug cartels are still going strong after all." 

"There's more in the closet." 

Tony moved to get a clear view of the tiny room. "Oh my god…this could keep an entire city supplied." 

Gibbs nodded. "This is bigger than a shooting over drugs. We're looking at something much more involved and organized." 

"We have to be. You know the manpower you're looking at with the sheer quantity of these drugs? This operation has to be huge."

* * *

"McGee, stop complaining. You are alive, are you not?" 

McGee's indignant huff was loud and exaggerated. "Yes, I'm alive, but that's not the point. We almost ran into three cars on the way up here, were practically on the sidewalk part of the way, and I think my forehead's swelling from you slamming on the brakes!" He was right – the skin right in the middle of his forehead was raised and angry. Ziva had to suppress a giggle at the sight. 

"It is not that bad, just a teeny bump." There was an undercurrent of teasing in her voice, just enough to be playful with McGee. Poor, sensitive McGee. 

"I think I'm getting a headache." Ziva turned from Tim massaging his forehead to view the sparse apartment around them. She did feel apologetic for injuring Tim while she was driving. One second she had the open road in front of her and the next, she was skidding to a halt so as to avoid a crash. Unlike McGee, she had enjoyed the adrenaline rush she felt when flying along the highway. It was something she was used to, and the feeling of danger and excitement wasn't something she could quite get out of her system. The euphoria was addicting. 

Somehow she didn't quite think Sam Nicholas would agree with her passion for action. His apartment looked like a bunk of a military man—barebones, simple, and rigid. The bed corners were hospital style and the pencils on his desk were parallel and at a perfect 90 degree angle to the edge of the table. 

The only signs of neglect were very, very recent. There was a small dust buildup on the bookshelves in the living room, and a jacket flung on the floor. On the coffee table were small forgotten piles of white, which Ziva knew without a doubt was heroin. She bagged and tagged anyway. 

McGee slowly made his way to the kitchen, still rubbing his head, and stopped when he saw the answering machine. "Looks like he missed a few calls." Ziva looked up to where he indicated. He was right—the red flashing number showed 16 missed calls. A few was putting it lightly. 

McGee pressed the large center button, and a loud beep filled the room, followed by a warm voice. 

"Hey Sammy, just wanted to hear your voice. I know you're out of Pendleton by now and living up in Bludhaven. I know, I'm going to try and keep the judgement to a minimum. Call me back, kay? A mother needs to hear her son's voice. Love you." 

_Beep_. 

"Sammy! Hey, just wanted to say good morning. Louis says hi and that he misses you and your bear hugs, not that I can blame him. Love you, call me back." 

_Beep_. 

"Sammy, I'm so proud of you! George told me you have an interview at Vivint this morning, Call me back to tell me how it went!" 

_Beep._

"Hey Sammy! Call me back, I want to hear how your interview went!" 

_Beep._

"Sammy, George said you never showed up for the interview. Did something happen? Call me back." 

_Beep._

"Is everything okay? You're not responding to any of my messages. Please call me." 

_Beep._

"Sammy, I'm worried about you. Please just call me so I know nothing's happened to you! Please." 

The messages ended, and Ziva and Tim exchanged looks. "These go back two weeks," Tim realized. "They're not marked as listened to. And look. No phone in the cradle." He was right. 

Ziva looked around. "So what happened here? How did this Marine go missing, and somehow get involved with heroin? It doesn't really make sense- I thought Nightwing had taken some of the supply off the streets." After all, with several cartels out of the way, shouldn't Bludhaven be relatively dry of drugs? 

"Ugh, not you too." Tim rolled his eyes. 

"Me too what?" Ziva was only somewhat confused by his statement. What she really wanted was for him to elaborate. 

McGee threw his arms up in agitation. "You've joined the Nightwing fan club! You don't even know the guy or what he really does, and yet you're more than willing to think he's some larger than life role model or something. How can you be sure of that? I mean, I thought you weren't really picking sides about him." 

Ziva raised her eyebrows slightly. She knew Tim enough to know that this dislike of Nightwing was more than just nothing. "I am not choosing sides Tim. I am just looking at the facts. Nightwing has never shown himself to be acting out of any malicious intent—he has only done good things for good people, and stopped those with vicious motivations. I am not saying we should fully trust him, just that he has earned the benefit of the doubt, perhaps." 

McGee made a face at that, and glared at the floor. Ziva continued. 

"Why is this any different from Robin? If I recall correctly, you seemed to get along with him well. He was a masked vigilante who saved others, possibly outside the law. You approved of him." 

When she mentioned Robin, she saw McGee's anger crack the slightest bit. Good. She finished, and he burst out, "Of course I approved of him! He was like…" He paused and the anger seemed to ebb away. "He was like me." 

Ziva was intrigued. She knew McGee connected with Robin more than anyone out of the young superhero team, but she wasn't aware he had bonded quite so closely with the young teen. "How so?" 

McGee's face reddened slightly, but he continued. "He was the tech guy in the team. Everyone looked to him and expected him to know everything technical and electronic, and he was really good. Like, better than me by a lot. But he _got_ it. And he wasn't some larger than life superhero, you know?" At this he shuffled a little. "He didn't have superpowers or extra anything, he was just human. But he was practically leading Superboy and a martian and his whole _team_. He was awesome. " 

Ziva looked at Tim in that moment—really looked. Suddenly McGee's adoration and praise and concern over the teen's disappearance made so much sense. McGee hadn't just been impressed with Robin's technical skills; no, it was much more than that. In Robin McGee had seen himself—the tech wizard, surrounded by those far more capable than himself, at least in his own mind. When Robin had taken control and led without fear, it gave McGee hope that that future could come true for him too. That he was capable of that same greatness. 

Ziva smiled warmly at McGee. "I know you miss him—I do too. I think we'll see him again someday. And know that you're every bit as awesome as he is. If not more."

* * *

And…done. With a flourish of his wrist, Dick set down the pen and stared at the stack of papers he had just filled out. Within that administrative nightmare was his official statement of what happened on about twelve different forms, his official report for his booklet, evidence paperwork, sworn affidavits for the warrants, his squad car check and log sheet, and about a million more different sheets that all needed his attention right now. It would be the death of him. 

Normally, in the case that they responded to a call going out, Amy would help him fill out the paperwork afterward and double check his work for any potential mistakes. It made him feel like he was eight again, but he was grateful nonetheless, especially now that he was doing all of this alone. He missed her already. Her gruff nature and take no shit attitude was something he was entirely comfortable around, due to years of Batman's surly disposition. He'd tried to get in to see her at the hospital but she had been in surgery. After that her family had been visiting and he really didn't want to intrude. 

Now he had a great distraction to keep himself from worrying too much about her though. He'd been setting up some computer software on the front desks (and harmlessly flirting with the receptionists, it was true) when through the front door walked the last people he ever expected to see again. The NCIS team that ran out of Washington DC, out to investigate the Marine's death from the night before. The Marine that he had shot. 

Batman had always told him that there were no such things as coincidences, whether it was to make him feel better or to explain a case. In this situation though, Dick didn't know what to believe. In all honesty, he had never expected to see these people again. He'd met them seven years ago, and he'd been Robin at the time, so there was no way they would recognize him or he could _re_ introduce himself. It was all he could to keep from laughing about the whole thing. Because honestly, it was downright hilarious. It was Artemis at Gotham Academy all over again, and Dick was in on the joke again. 

Dick couldn't help but wonder what was different about the team now. After all, he had changed a lot over these past years. He could only imagine what the NCIS team had accomplished in that time. He was actually a little surprised (and somewhat relieved) to see the team was still intact and whole. Tim had slimmed down a little and looked more confident in himself, and was still a nerd through and through. Ziva had grown out her hair and was wearing something more akin to what a federal officer would wear, but Dick could still see her assessing and analyzing as the former Mossad agent that she was. Tony was still an X-rated Peter Pan, although his hair looked a tad thinner. And Gibbs, who had a little more silver hair, was still as quiet and Batman-like than Dick would ever expect a civilian to be. 

He wasn't 100% sure how he felt about seeing them again. On one hand, he was overjoyed. He loved the thought of playing this elaborate prank on them right under their noses (not that they would ever hear the punchline). Every time he thought about the fact that the Robin they knew was right in front of them, he wanted to laugh out loud. And he was also happy to see people that he had had such a lasting impression of when they'd met. 

On the other hand, now he knew them as so much more than just quirky agents of the federal government. After NCIS's case with Young Justice, Dick had gone straight to the Batcomputer and done indepth background research on everything there was to know about everyone on the team. He couldn't help it—they'd made him curious. When asked by Batman, he'd said it was a training exercise to see if he could break into the various databases needed. And it had been difficult. Ziva was an enigma of online anonymity, forcing Dick to hack into both the NCIS and Mossad databases. Eli David had kept her relatively off the books, so every piece of light he could shed on Ziva was valuable. What he had found was both sad and revealing. This applied also to Gibbs, who was a mystery until he read about the deaths of his wife and daughter. Given the tools, Gibbs could have easily turned into Batman—the similarities were certainly uncanny. Dick also read about Tim's father and career at MIT, laughing at the failed fencing class, which he was sure Tim was still beating himself up about to this day. Tony had lost his mother, been a Baltimore cop, and went to Ohio State. Dick had combed through doctors notes on file, old school records, towns lived in, credit cards, and social security. He knew most everything there was to know about these people, including things they'd probably told no one. And it was…odd. Dick felt he was on the outside of one-way glass looking in, able to see everything, while everyone else saw what was reflected back at them. He knew everything about them, and they knew nothing about him. He had to wonder if that was really fair. 

Guess it didn't matter if it was fair—it was necessary. 

Dick stood and started walking the hallways. Now all he was waiting for was the psych eval to go through and confirm that he was indeed ready for duty again. Yes, I shot someone. Yes, he died. No, I am not depressed. No, I'm fine. Whatever he needed to say. 

Now that the team was here, he felt the pull of joining their case with them. After all, it was his to begin with. He really wanted to see this through. 

His face split into a wide grin, and his steps lengthened as he set off.

* * *

 **TBC- I promise I won't wait so long to update next time! Pinky swear ;)**

 **Don't forget to read, review, favorite, and follow! I appreciate any and all comments, questions, concerns, and the like.**


	5. Surprisingly Opaque

**A/N- I'm baaaack! And so, so sorry. It's been almost 3 weeks, and I have nothing but apologies to you guys. One minute I'm posting a chapter online and then life drags me by the scruff of my neck into craziness galore. I know I said no upload schedule, because I wouldn't follow it anyway, but I'm rethinking that...because 3 weeks is pretty inexcusable on my part. Feel free to stone or maim me.**

 **My gosh, the research that is going into this…after learning Ducky went into Eton, I proceeded to spend an hour reading up on the school. It's actually pretty cool—if I wasn't a girl, I'd totally go there. I wish I could add more info that I learned, but it doesn't really correlate. Let me just say now that I will try and make everything in this story as authentic and correct as possible. If I'm going to add in extra information, it's not going to be wrong—I will definitely make sure I know my shit before writing about it, rather than bullshiting anything. The info on police operations and codes, guns, human anatomy, Simo Hayha, security systems, Gibbs' rules, heroin, and all character histories have all been thoroughly researched with care. So who knows, maybe you'll learn a little something on the side. It's just a little something to show I care**

 **I've just realized that there have been a buildup of questions in my review section. First of all, thank you! I love the fact that there are those intrigued/interested enough in my story that they want to know more about the universe it's set in or the characters it revolves around. And I'd hate to not reward people for putting forth these questions. So, from here on out, I'll try my best to not only thank reviewers, but also comment on interesting reviews and answer questions. That being said, there are some questions that I obviously can't answer because it would ruin things for you guys, and that's no fun at all. So for those types… Let your imaginations run wild. Who knows, maybe you'll give me a brain child**

 **Crawcolady- What happened in the last case that has McGee so "down" and working on his shooting?** This, I think, will be mentioned later on. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise ;)

 **Cindar- Why did he stop sending gifts? Will they learn that Robin is now Nightwing? Is the assassin from any big group?** First off, let me say that I love your natural inquisitiveness. Uno- This will be revealed at some point. Dos- Also to be revealed, although I can tell you I feel there's something a lot more satisfying about the suspense you get from the team not knowing and Dick keeping this secret life from them. But also, keep in mind there is a distinct difference between learning Robin is Nightwing, Dick is Robin, and Dick is Nightwing ;). It's like the trifecta of hidden identities. Tres- Obviously to be revealed. Hehe.

 **Cindar- Does the NCIS Team know about other Robins?** Good question, mainly because it's a question that's plagued me as well. I have to be honest, I'm not overly fond of the idea of other Robins. Maybe I'm a purest (or whatever you wanna call it), but I honestly believe there is no better Robin than Dick. He is the original Boy Wonder, the Prodigal Son and all that. That being said…I haven't completely made up my mind yet. It would certainly be another fascinating angle to come at it from. If I do write them in, it probably won't be in this book. (I know. I have other books planned out. It's crazy.)

 **Cindar- I love the fact that they think Dick is Jason...** Thank you for catching that! I was actually looking for names that rhymed with Grayson and that came up, and I used it not even thinking about Jason Todd. Unintentional easter eggs for the win, right? Haha, life is funny like that.

 **Thank you to Cindar, starletzrose, PSML, Virgil1989 the Crossover King, Chise Sakamoto, and TheAsterous Author (love the name!) for your wonderful reviews. You guys are awesome!**

* * *

Chapter 5

The team reentered the Bludhaven police office together, and headed straight for the elevators. Tony's animated gestures punctuated his words as the elevator dinged its arrival. 

"You should have seen it. There had to have been hundreds of pounds of heroin, easy. It was more than I ever saw working Peoria, Philadelphia, or Baltimore combined. We're talking enough to get a blue whale stoned and chasing its tail." Gibbs leveled a look at Tony, and he instantly sobered. "Not that that's even a possibility. Like, ever." McGee and Ziva shared a conspiratorial snicker at Tony's expense. 

"At least you had that. Nicholas's house is freakishly clean, other than the heroin and the phone calls. And those may not actually lead us anywhere toward the killer or the heroin. At this point our best bet is Abby or Ducky miraculously finding something we missed," said McGee. 

_Thank you, McObvious._ "Mm, yeah. Hey, do I smell funny to you? I think I may have brought some of that guy's disgusting apartment stench with me…" Tony took a moment to sniff his collar and his pits, turning around in a lopsided circle once. 

McGee laughed as the elevator doors slid open. "Sure Tony. It's the apartment. And apparently, it's not necessary to get people stoned to chase their tails." Tony made a face and returned to sniffing. 

The group rounded a corner to the morgue entrance and saw the bodies on the slabs waiting for them. Metallic aluminum shone from beneath the fluorescent bulbs, while the corners stayed draped in shadows. The team hesitated once over the morgue threshold, but it wasn't the bodies that had the group slowing down. 

"I thought we didn't need him anymore," muttered McGee, whose face had gone from jovial to angry and sullen in a split second. Tony ignored him and looked on with mild curiosity as Dick continued chatted with Ducky, giving no indication that either of them had heard the teams arrival. 

"…was a guest speaker in one of their societies once. He always really enjoyed when they put on A Midsummer's Night's Dream." Dick stood next to Ducky in front of the autopsy table, his voice light and conversational. 

Ducky nodded his agreement and gave a half smile to the young officer. "A fine choice of Shakespearian works. In my second year we were charged with putting on Hamlet, and this was before they started inviting girls to fill roles. My good friend Anthony played Ophelia, and he was quite good. He never really lived down donning a wig though. Our first night we received a standing ovation; it was quite an exhilarating feeling, and although I never pursued the dramatic arts, because the medical field was forever near and dear to my heart, I have always enjoyed melodramas and the like. My father—" 

"Ducky." This time it was Tim who interrupted Ducky in the middle of his long-winded tangent. Tony made note of McGee's clipped tones and poorly concealed disdain. _Well alrightee then._

Ducky turned to peer at them through his oval lenses, and Dick turned with him, looking slightly abashed. "Ah yes, there they are. Always on time, or sometimes even early. We are forever eager for information, and always impatient for results. Richard, this is the team I work with back in DC. Agent Tony—." 

Dick smiled at Ducky. "Actually, Ducky, we've all met before." His smile grew fractionally at that. 

"Is that so? Well good, then we can skip the introductions and proceed straight to my area of expertise." Dick stayed standing still as Ducky moved to the other side of Fernandez. In his peripheral Tony could feel McGee actively trying to burn a hole through the young officer with just his eyes. _Ugh, it's a good thing you're not Superman, Probie, because right about now you'd be using your powers for evil._ He bumped into Tim and when they made eye contact, the message was clear. _Control yourself dude. This isn't the time or place._ McGee stared at him for a moment, then gave a slight nod to concede his agreement. 

"Mr. Fernandez here," Ducky gestured to the dark naked man on his table, "was a rather noxious individual. While he was not ailing from any particular disease, my guess is that he would be in five, maybe ten years. He is young, and his years in the army have done him well, but his time since has largely been spent immobile, judging from the early state of atrophy in his muscles. He was not one to partake in the belief that his body was a temple, of that I am quite certain. His diet was composed largely of unhealthy starches, fats, sugars, and oils." 

"So nothing from Fernandez," Gibbs stated. 

"Nothing but compliments on the fine shot by Richard." Everyone's heads swiveled to look at Dick. It was clear the words were nothing but praise from Ducky, but Dick turned a shade of crimson and started sputtering. Tony had never seen him this flustered. 

"I…it was…really it was nothing…you don't need to…," Dick stared at his shoes as his speech became more and more warbled and quiet. 

Tony saw Tim take a deep breath beside him, and then his partner spoke. "How'd you do it?" The words were blunt and uncaring, especially coming from Tony's sensitive geek of a partner. He wasn't sure where the words had come from, other than Tim's desperate need to know how the young man in front of them had marksmanship skills that rivaled Gibbs, but right now, it was just inappropriate. 

Dick stared at McGee for a long moment, a million thoughts seeming to cross his features as he processed the words thrown at him. The articulate young cop that had sat before them just earlier today was gone, replaced with someone who looked downright…shameful? Yes, if Tony had to pick a dominating expression on Dick's face, it would have to be guilt and shame. 

Honestly, it made sense to Tony. He'd been in Dick's shoes before. One moment he was a young police officer who was still learning the ropes and the way the world worked, and the next he was a young police officer who'd just shot someone dead. It was necessary and part of the job, but that didn't make it suck any less. It was something that most officers of the law gradually numbed themselves to, convincing themselves that it was for the greater good. Whatever it took to help them sleep at night, because otherwise it would eat them whole. But Dick…Dick was about as green as they got. He obviously hadn't built up defenses and walls against things like this. Odds are this was the first life he had ever taken. No matter the type of man he'd killed or how good of a shot he was, it was still bound to do more than rattle the young man's cage…if he was anything like McGee had been, it would shake his very foundation. 

Tony was jerked out of his short reverie by Dick's clear, yet quiet voice. "How'd I do it." Tony wasn't sure if he was asking the team or himself, or just repeating the question aloud. Dick's eyes had been torn from the floor and were now fixated on the wound in Carlos' chest. After Ducky had finished, it was a neat little hole in the middle of his sternum—hardly something that looked like it could do so much damage. 

Dick's eyes moved to Ducky's. "How could I do it? I don't know. It wasn't supposed to happen…that gun…" He grimaced. "I never meant to. I never aimed to kill him…never to kill him." Tan fingers moved to touch the back of his hand, ghosting over the skin unconsciously. "I was aiming for his median nerve." 

"You weren't aiming to kill him, you were simply aiming to paralyze his hand…to prevent him from shooting. And when he moved, you happened to hit his ascending aorta." Ducky reasoned aloud. Dick nodded slowly, and the doctor exchanged a loaded look with Gibbs that did not go unnoticed by Tony. He could see incredulous wonderment from Ducky, and Gibbs had the look of someone that in the middle of figuring out a complex puzzle. 

Even McGee was struggling to maintain his surly disposition; his face kept twitching between a frown and reluctant confused concern. 

Ziva, who had remained beyond Tony's vantage point until that moment, walked calmly forward. Dick's wide cerulean orbs flicked to hers, and he seemed to take in her sure stride and her straight figure. "You did nothing wrong. Excuse me for my bluntness, but it is true. In this moment and in this situation, you did absolutely nothing wrong. You shot at a man who not only played a part in killing a man who served his country well, but was also aiming to kill you. And he would have done it without hesitation, without blinking an eye. In my opinion, you more than did your duty—you were calm in the face of danger. I would have done no different." Ziva's confident, assured tone seemed to act as a balm to Dick. Tony saw his shoulders draw back and his chin lift, and his hand floated away from the other that he'd been compulsively rubbing at. 

"Ziva is right, you know," said Ducky. "Your intentions were certainly pure, and what happened afterward was simply an intervention of fate, or karma. What occurred that night doesn't make you a bad or evil person, simply one who has had to toe the line between right and wrong. Stand firm with yourself, my boy, and trust that what will be will be." 

They all watched on for a moment as Dick filtered through the words of advice slowly. "I know you're right," he replied eventually. "I really do. And I appreciate every word you've said to me. It means a lot, and I'll take it into consideration. I just…It's not that simple. I was raised and taught that no matter the circumstance, no matter the individual and their deeds, killing is never the answer. It's not something I can easily come to terms with right now, or possibly ever." He looked carefully at each of them, and a smile broke through his troubled features like the sun through the clouds. "But seriously, enough about me; we have a case to work on. Ducky, tell us about Nicholas." 

Tony narrowed his eyes. It was classic, if obvious, evasion. The doctor took the hint in stride. He moved to the adjacent table, where Sam Nicholas' pale form waited patiently. The group shuffled closer, random eyes still flickering sporadically at Dick, who gave Ducky his undivided attention. Tony knew enough to know the face of someone trying to force things back under lock and key. 

"Now Sam Nicholas," Ducky began, "was a fit young man not unlike Carlos Fernandez. This, and their military careers, are where the similarities end however. While Fernandez's body was mostly clean of drugs except for minimal use, Nicholas showed the adverse effects of extreme withdrawal in his system, including extreme sweating, recent vomiting, and sleep deprivation. This would normally coincide with years of intense drug abuse, but I can only find temporary, recent marks of drug use in his system. He has no liver disease, HIV, Hepatitis B or C, collapsed veins, or respiratory depression, which are all indicative of the type of drug use that would cause withdrawal of this magnitude. Heroin is his drug of choice, as Abby will more than likely confirm, but I think we can all agree there's something more at play." 

"Have you ever seen anything like this before, Duck?" asked Gibbs. 

Ducky scratched the top of his head through his surgical cap. "All the effects of heroin without actually partaking in the habit? No, I've never heard of such a thing." 

Tim, who seemed to be getting over his confused emotions at the prospect of a new mystery, spoke up. _Good_ , Tony thought. _I hate it when it's his time of month._ "What if he's addicted to another substance, and only recently started heroin? Would the same reactions be involved in his body no matter what he was addicted to?" 

"A very good idea Timothy. With luck the toxicology report from Abby should answer any questions we have on the matter. I do have suspicions; I see no evidence of long term drug or substance abuse period. I don't even see needle marks for the heroin injections, even though there were needles at the apartment." 

Dick leaned closer to the corpse, peering at it curiously. "Did you check the moles?" 

"What about moles, Richard," Ducky asked. Ziva was already nodding her head in agreement—to what, Tony had no clue. So what if the guy had moles? 

"It's been a common practice around here for a while; I'm actually surprised I didn't think of it before. If a person doesn't want other people to know they're using, they inject the heroin into a mole, so the point of injection isn't noticeable. It's harder to find a vein that way, but still effective. And gross. So dealers have been using it lately to get people hopped up, and then they have to keep coming back to buy more. It's a good way to stay under the radar." 

"I say," said Ducky as he moved to inspect the body. "Crime has certainly lost some of its finesse since my day. Now it's all so…boorish." 

"Yeah, well, it's not everyday we get to meet arms dealers wearing mustaches and top hats on their private jets," Tony muttered under his breath. Dick gave a little snort next to him. 

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that Anthony," Ducky said as he peered down at some spots on Nicholas' arm. After a moment, he rose to his full height and fixed his glasses. "Quite intuitive Richard. There do seem to be puncture marks well disguised by moles in several locations." The snort from McGee was almost inaudible, but Tony could see Dick's head turn slightly in his direction. _Come on McGoo, what is your problem?_

"Well that begs the question, doesn't it? If this has been happening recently in Bludhaven, then this gives us reason to believe that Nicholas was intentionally doped, and then murdered. Possibly by the same people, or we could be looking at two different groups involved," Tony reasoned. 

"We can find out later," quipped McGee, who was slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Abby has the toxicology test results back, and she's in the lab upstairs." As Ziva and Dick headed out the morgue door, Tony grabbed Tim's shoulder and held him back briefly. 

"You need to stop man. I don't get why you have a problem with this kid, but whatever it is you need to pull it together. Seriously, what has got you so riled up? It's not you," Tony spoke to him in a low voice. McGee gave him a look complete with glowering eyes and a scowl, and stalked off toward the elevator. Tony followed behind him. 

"Well this should be fun."

* * *

Gibbs watched as the team traipsed out and the morgue grew silent around them. He didn't miss DiNozzo pulling McGee aside or McGee's less than peaceful response; he'd observed Tim's angry behavior and heard Tony's resigned sigh. It wasn't hard to figure out the subject of their disagreement – the ever interesting enigma of a police officer named Dick Grayson. 

"Jethro?" Ducky's voice echoed from behind him, and he turned slowly to face their medical examiner, who was watching him with raised eyebrows. "Something you forget?" 

Gibbs pulled a tall metal stool against one of the sterile empty metal tables and sat down. "I need a psychological consult Duck." 

Giving a single nod, Ducky grabbed a chair to sit alongside Gibbs at the autopsy table. After settling, the doctor turned his magnified eyes back to him. "Who do you need a psych consult for? The man who got away after stabbing Nicholas?" 

"Not exactly," Gibbs hedged. 

Ducky fixed him with an extended look. "You want me to help you figure out Richard Grayson, don't you?" 

Gibbs nodded. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of. He had always prided himself in the fact that he could easily read others and their intentions. It was easy—most people were an open book, with their emotions, thoughts, feelings, and desires worn freely on their sleeve for all to see. He had learned long ago that people were transparent beings who wanted to be seen and heard and felt by those around them, and so often their secrets were low hanging fruit. But Gibbs had seen Dick through the same eyes he saw everyone through, and while to everyone else Dick seemed transparent, he was surprisingly opaque. 

Ducky went to remove the surgical cap he always wore. "May I request as to why you're asking me to analyze someone who is clearly not a criminal, or one of your suspects? This certainly takes paranoia to a whole new level, Jethro." 

"It's a gut thing Duck. I just want to know what you make of him." He needed to know that he wasn't the only one having trouble with what was supposed to be a simple new cop. Ducky knew how to read people, albeit in a different way, so surely he could shed some light on the man. This belief is what surprised him so much about Ducky's next phrase. 

"I may not be able to help you as much as you would like, then. I find him deceivingly baffling." He gave an apologetic smile. "I can tell you what I did ascertain though. We can compare notes, so to speak." Gibbs nodded his agreement at this—if it took him and Ducky putting their heads together to figure out one puzzling kid, he would do it. 

"I know he's intelligent and well trained. He was at the top of his graduating academy class, and got high scores on most of his tests. When we interviewed him, he remembered every detail of what happened, and was making deductions that would take my team days to figure out through other channels. Well trained doesn't even being to cover his shooting skills either," said Gibbs. 

Ducky gave a low chuckle. "'Deadshot' doesn't seem to quite cover it, does it?" 

"No, it doesn't. He and I are comparable now…but I was never that skilled at his age." 

"And I bet you weren't quite so frightened with a gun either, were you?" Gibbs brow furrowed in confusion. Ducky raised his eyebrows. "You didn't see it? The young man was talking about what he did and expressing his shame, but it wasn't exclusively shame about killing that man. I think his words were 'that gun'. You see? He's not even willing to take ownership of it. It may be fear, it may be animosity, I'm not sure, but for someone who's such a dead ringer, he's awfully uncomfortable with the weapon in his hand." 

Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. "So he's uncomfortable with a weapon he knows how to shoot extremely well?" It made no sense. He was tempted to say Ducky was in the wrong, that he'd gone a step too far with his analysis, but as he thought he realized the man was right. Gibbs had seen the signs himself. 

" _I had a clear shot on him, and I took it." Dick's face grew dark and cloudy. "I hit him in the chest."_

" _He also reacted very quickly when he realized I was gunning for him." His fingers froze._

" _How could I do it? I don't know. It wasn't supposed to happen…that gun…" He grimaced. "I never meant to. I never aimed to kill him…never to kill him."_

Dick had never been outright about his distaste for guns, but he hadn't exactly been subtle either. He'd left clues like breadcrumbs throughout the time Gibbs had known him, and yet the older man was just picking up on it now. 

Ducky replied to Gibbs statement he'd made before the mini realization. "The source of his discomfort might not all be the weapon. I think we can both agree that good and innocent people tend to have problems with shooting other people with guns." 

Another good point made by Ducky. "He's a good kid. It makes sense." 

Ducky nodded thoughtfully. "More than a good kid, I think. He appeared a kind hearted and humble young man with good morals to me, so the qualms he had against shooting the man seem justified. All of that I can certainly bear witness to. He showed an emotional intelligence far beyond his years when I was talking with him. And when I was chatting with him, he also was very comfortable, very relaxed—he assimilates very quickly to social situations and new people. The age difference didn't seem to bother him at all either, which is abnormal in such a young person. My best guess is that he's spent a large amount of time with older individuals." 

Gibbs thought back. "He was very comfortable with my team too. Within ten minutes of being here, he was talking to all three of them like he'd known them for years. Which is part of the reason I'm here talking to you about analyzing him." 

Ducky smiled teasingly. "Isn't that what we've been doing?" 

Gibbs didn't respond back. He'd gotten to the part he wanted to talk to Ducky about—the part that he was the most uncertain, and needed Ducky's intelligence to analyze for him. "When we first arrived at Bludhaven, Dick was the first person we saw at the station. When we met him, he got this…look…when he saw us. It was only there for a split second and he covered it up well, but I know what I saw when I looked at him. It was recognition Duck." 

Ducky blinked at him owlishly. "He may have seen you before in passing and remembered. That's not such an awful thing." 

"That's not the point. He recognized us, knew we were there as NCIS agents, and the whole time we didn't know who he was. It felt like a covert operation, like…" 

"Like he could see you before you could see him. I understand," said Ducky, his expression thoughtful. "It seems to me that Mr. Grayson is far more intelligent than we give him credit for. What he did was level the playing field. He observed you when you weren't expecting it, saw you when your guard was down. Gathering intelligence, I think you would call it. How interesting." 

Gibbs glowered at that. "It's not interesting, it's suspicious. What kind of first year cop pulls that stunt on federal agents? I can't tell whether I can trust him or not Duck. Is he hiding something?" 

"Those are very different questions," Ducky replied frankly. "Is he hiding something? Yes. Of that I am quite certain. After all, we are all hiding one thing or another. Can you trust him?" He paused. "Yes, I think you can." 

Gibbs was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Thanks Duck." He stood and made his way out of the morgue. 

He trusted Ducky's judgment. The doctor was seldom wrong about these things, and could read people almost as well as himself. If Ducky said that Dick was someone who could be trusted…he believed him. But he was also someone who believed in the power of proof. And Dick hadn't proved to him personally that he could be trustworthy. He may be a good detective and a good shot, but he hadn't gained Gibbs' respect. 

There was something else eating at Gibbs' mind, and he continued to mull over it as he walked to the elevator. When Dick had seen them, the recognition had been instantaneous. He had them pegged the second he saw them. But as Gibbs had spent time with this kid, he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew Dick from somewhere too. It seemed like he would have recognized that face and those eyes anywhere, but he hadn't. Just something about the way the kid acted…it reminded him of someone, he was sure of it, but he didn't know who. It was like an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn't scratch, and it kept eluding him whenever he pursued it.

* * *

 **TBC- Not one of my favorite chapters, but the next should be fun. I'm sure you all want to see Abby with Dick :)**

 **I love all of your reviews and follows and all that- please continue, because it makes me happy :D**


	6. Strings of Clues

**A/N- Sorry for the tardiness again. Haha, it seems like I'm perpetually apologizing for it, and that's because I really am sorry. It wasn't quite as hectic this time around, but as summer starts to end, my class is wrapping up and I have to get ready for next semester-it makes for not a lot of time. If I had it my way, I'd be writing nonstop, with a new chapter up at least every week. But that's an ideal world, where I also am a well known writer just playing around on here under an alias and also happen to have a pet dolphin. As it is, I spent most of my time between chapters doing everything I needed to do for the fall semester, and then really getting to know Abby as a character so I could do her justice. I hope you enjoy her in this chapter!**

 **I need to fix one thing before I go ahead. In my intro before chapter one, I know I said time wasn't a construct or concern from either fandom, but reading back over what I've got in all my notes, I realize I need to fix that. Time still isn't of importance from the NCIS side of things, except for the fact that it's a laterish season (yeah, I know, really specific haha). But on the Young Justice side of things, I've come to realize that I can work out a timeline for things so it's a little more linear. McGee mentioning that it had been seven years since they last saw Robin was kind of my way of incorporating it, but I also wanted to make it clear here (without giving too much away). When the NCIS team met the Young Justice team, it was sometime during the first year of the team forming. Robin then proceeded to send Gibbs Christmas gifts for five years. Now it's seven years after their initial meeting, and Dick isn't a part of Young Justice anymore (for…reasons. Hehe). So there ya have it – a general gist of the timeline without me giving away any spoilers ;)**

 **Thank you to all of you lovely people who reviewed- Cindar, TheAsterousAuthor, starletzrose, lilnudger82, R'D'JG-W, Chise Sakamoto, mah-nom-in-ah, shattered rainbow, and 2 guests. You guys rock!**

* * *

Chapter 6

Dick settled behind Tony and Tim as they appeared moments later into the elevator. 

_Fwwwsh. Ding._

Dick wasn't stupid. In fact, he was far from it. On top of natural inquisitiveness and a sharp mind, he'd been trained by none other than THE Batman, the world's foremost investigator and detective. He could see clues and trails where the general population would see nothing but coincidences and luck, and he could run laps around most police detectives. 

It didn't matter. Right now, he could be a first grader and still pick up on the tension emanating from DiNozzo and McGee, exuding from the two agents like toxic fumes, filling the elevator and choking them all with awkwardness. Tim's clenched fists, Tony's hunched shoulders, both of their taut jaws—it didn't take a genius to piece together the fact that the little chat they just had had not exactly ended on a friendly note. Dick knew Ziva beside him was also picking up on the strained nature between the two. Her dark eyes flitted between the pair and then narrowed, but she stayed silent. 

Dick also happened to know the brief discussion that had just occurred was about him. Between the glares that had Dick wanting to check for singed clothing and the muttering under his breath, McGee had made it pretty obvious that the young cop was number one right now on his shit list. As crystal clear as that was, Dick just couldn't figure out _why_. One minute he'd been talking with McGee about security systems, and he'd been very amiable, and the next he'd been getting a stinkeye to rival all others. What had he done to gain McGee's sudden hostility? 

The elevator dinged again, and the doors slid open to reveal a long hallway. The team made their way down the industrial gray carpeting to a door labeled Forensics on yellowing paper. Opening the door, they all jumped back when they were met with a loud, piercing screech and a female "Come on!". Previous tension momentarily forgotten, Tim and Tony exchanged loaded looks. 

Dick couldn't help but smile. The others were apprehensive, but Dick only had room for excitement. He was about to meet the last piece of the puzzle that was Gibbs' team, the only member left that he hadn't met. Abigail Sciuto, the adopted forensic scientist who had the most interesting credit card bill he had ever seen. Who knew one person could rack up such a charge on Caf Pows and a website named Gothic Topic? He couldn't wait to meet her. 

Suffice to say, he was not disappointed. The first word that came to mind was _black_. Between her dyed black hair (complete with straight bangs and high pigtails), black combat boots, black choker collar, white and black checkered pants and her black eye makeup, Dick was suddenly reminded of a modern Morticia Addams. The outfit was complete with a long white lab coat and (oh my god) a black tshirt with a golden Batman symbol on it. Dick almost choked when he saw it. _I love her already. Just wait until I tell Bruce about this. Oh, this is too good!_

"Abby? What's the matter?" Dick snapped his attention back to the team as DiNozzo's voice invaded his thoughts. 

Abby fixed an incensed glare on what appeared to be an older stereo leaning up against the wood paneled walls. "This. This is the matter Tony. This prehistoric piece of crap is rejecting my CD. It's rejecting my CD and I don't know why." Her voice was lower and rougher than most girls', like rocks on a gravel driveway. 

DiNozzo looked a tad uncomfortable. "Oh, sorry Abs." 

The goth heaved a sigh theatrically. "Yeah, me too. All I wanted to do was play some Android Lust and pretend I was back in my lab in DC, surrounded by my faithful machines. Here they don't speak to me, you know?" She chewed on her red lips in agitation. Dick wanted to suppress a snort of laughter—she was actually serious about this, wasn't she? 

McGee glanced around. "Is that what those are for?" He gestured to black bat streamers hung from various corners of machines and furniture haphazardly. 

She looked up. "Oh yeah. Those make it feel a little more homey, you know, more Abby. I was deciding between the black cats and the bats and I decided the bats totally match my superhero theme, what with my Batman shirt and my—" Her focus swung back to the group, and Dick saw the moment her large eyes honed in on him. "Who are you?" Her attention span bounced like a rubber ball off of the walls and all over the room. 

Dick stepped out from behind the NCIS agents and outstretched a hand. "Dick Grayson. It's nice to meet you, the famous Abigail Sciuto. Nice shirt by the way." They shook, and Abby never took her eyes off of Dicks'. For a moment, he thought maybe she knew who he was—Richard Grayson, ward of the famously rich playboy Bruce Wayne. He hoped not. He was enjoying the anonymity of being a simple new cop that no one knew, that no one had figured out. 

Abby blinked a few times at him. Dick watched as a smile slowly spread across her blood red lips. "Ok, for one, famous? I don't know about famous, but let me just tell you, if there is a right way to sweet talk a girl, that is totally it. For two, I know right? My friend prints them back in DC, and he's got a whole line going for all the superheroes. A Justice League collection, you know? He just put out a new one, and I brought it just for Bludhaven—" A gruff voice interrupted her. 

"Hey Abs. What do we got?" Gibbs sidled into the room, stopping beside Richard as he stared not unkindly at Abby. 

She smiled at him hopefully. "Caf Pow?" While she spoke, her hands were forming different motions and figures, like an intricate dance. It took a moment for Dick to realize that Abby was signing to Gibbs something completely different than what she was saying aloud. _Who's the male model? If you tell me he's here to assist me, I swear I'll throw him off the roof myself. And I'm not above considering disemboweling._ Dick smirked. Keep in mind—never offer to assist her. 

Gibbs shook his head. "Sorry, couldn't find any on the way in." Dick watched with amusement as his fingers started moving through the air. _Put the surgical equipment away. He's not a male model or assistant, just the police officer on scene last night who shot Fernandez. Focus Abby._ It was like listening in on a conversation he knew he shouldn't be listening to, but Dick didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. According to them, your average police officer in training doesn't know ASL. Too bad for them he wasn't the average police officer in training. And he didn't feel guilty at all in listening in to the conversation if it was being broadcasted. Guess he really was a troll. 

Abby snuck a quick look back at Dick, and he could feel the brief evaluation taking place. He sure hoped he was meeting expectations. 

"Hey, ya know, some of us here don't understand your super special secret code. 'Secrets, secrets are no fun', and all that," Tony said with a flippant tone of voice. 

"I love you Tony, but that is so not my problem." Abby flipped her attention to a computer screen on the other side of her, much like a child with a new toy as she slid into a computer chair. "Ok, first, I ran all the samples of heroin through Mass Spec, one from every case and on the pavement at the scene, and they were definitely all made from the same batch. Chemical matchup is a 95 percent match." 

Tim approached the computer, taking in the charts and numbers with a practiced eye. "So we're looking at hundreds of pounds of heroin in one batch, for one operation." 

Abby turned in her chair to face the group, a satisfied gleam in her eye. Dick knew that look—heck, he was a master at that look. That was the face of someone who knew the information before everyone else, and reveled in it. "Oh no. It's sooo much more than that McGee. We're looking at 422.8 pounds of heroin. And this is not your average smack. We're talking high powered, kill-your-neighbors-for-the-next-hit heroin." Somewhere along her excited diatribe, Abby had started gesturing with her hands. "This stuff will have you sweating for more in _hours_ after the first hit. Kind of like my Aunt Gert at Thanksgiving after too much vodka and gin." 

Tony stared off into space, obviously picturing Aunt Gert, and his face twisted in disgust. Ziva glanced at him and back at Abby. "What would that look like in a person over a two week period of time?" 

Abby delivered a knowing smile Ziva's way. "Exactly where I was headed Ziva. I ran the blood samples from Nicholas and Fernandez. Fernandez's blood was clean of heroin except for trace amounts, but Nicholas…Nicholas' blood was swimming in the stuff. It's no wonder Ducky was so confused—the blood tells us Nicholas' body is an addict, but his body doesn't. Somehow someone upped the addictive quality, like, tenfold. Nicholas had barely been taking in the stuff for two weeks, but he was already shutting down." 

"So why bother to kill him? He was already dying—why not let the drug finish him off," Gibbs pondered. 

"Maybe he stole some of the supply. He was getting desperate going through the withdrawal symptoms, which he'd probably never experienced before," Tony postulated. 

"It's possible, but I somehow doubt it. There wasn't enough heroin there on the pavement for him to have actually stole any significant amount," said Abby. 

Dick smiled to himself. The strings of clues were dangling on the ceiling all around them, and Dick was tracing his finger to the center where everything came together at the heart of the crime. The truth. His favorite part. 

He spoke up. "He could've been trying to flip on them, and they caught up to him before he could warn anyone. I mean, he is a well-liked, celebrated marine officer, right? So chances are he's an upstanding citizen concerned about the morally right thing to do; he'd end up trying to do what his conscience told him was right. He wouldn't sit by as other people got injected with this stuff, especially not after he went through it." 

Ziva looked at him thoughtfully. "That makes sense to me. They would have needed to clean up loose ends, and if Nicholas was a liability to them, they would have had no qualms about silencing him to keep him from alerting officials to their plans." 

Abby shoved the rolling chair along the counter, bringing herself to a halt in front of a microscope and a plastic tray. "Speaking of silencing, I ran tests on the knife from the crime scene." She took the knife from the tray, and held it with gloved hands so everyone could see. The silver knife looked even more foreign and strange surrounded by Abby's technology, a relic among (semi) modern science. It looked like it belonged in a museum display case being adored by ten year old boys. "Did I mention how absolutely awesome this thing is? This is like Prince of Persia cool. I can totally picture some badass ninja using it to defeat his foes, battling for his country against sieges of enemies, laying waste to the hordes around him…". She glanced at the surprised faces around her, and shrugged. "What? I'm like a queen on Dungeon Mists MMORPG." 

"The knife, Abs," Gibbs intoned. He reminded Dick of a patient father…or grandfather. Bruce and Alfred's face flashed before his eyes, and he forced himself to look back at the knife. Now wasn't the time. 

"Oh. Right. Knife." She turned her focus back to the blade. "I pulled Nicholas's blood off of it, so it was definitely what stabbed him in the stomach. Thing is, his wasn't the only blood there. In the space between the blade and the handle there were minuscule traces of blood particles—not enough to get matches on any of the other victims, but enough to tell me there were over 20 other people." 

Ziva pursed her lips. "Then we are certainly dealing with an assassin or serial killer of some sort." Dick didn't miss the roll of Tim's eyes, but he wish he had. _It was my idea, so of course McGee can't get behind it. Totally putting the dis in disdain dude._

Abby settled the knife back into the tray and rolled back to the computer, where fingerprints were running rapid fire across the screen. "I managed to pull a few partials off of the blade. They're only partials, and they were kind of marred by the grain of the wood, so I'm not expecting anything solid back on those any time—". She was interrupted by the beeping of the computer screen as it displayed 'Matches Found' across the top. 

"Well…I stand corrected." She bent over the screen. "They match identical partials found at two other different crime scenes. One is from Montana in 2005, a double homicide where husband and wife Tracy and Dan Stewart were found dead in their living room. Stabbed in the stomach. The other was Tyler Keaton in Gotham, found dead in his car on his way to work a year later. Same MO." 

Dick stiffened at the name Tyler Keaton. He remembered that case, not because he had worked it, but because Batman had. Tyler Keaton had worked for a small genetics lab there in Gotham, and it was rumored that he had something big in the works. He had died before the project ever saw completion, or at least that was the theory—his work was gone when others went to search for it. That file was in a small (yet still too large) pile with other unsolved cases from Batman's career, and served as an unspoken reminder to all. And somehow it tied in now with the assassin…but how? 

Tony seemed to be in the same frame of mind as Dick. "Are those related somehow? Are we looking at some spiderweb, everything-connects sort of thing?" 

Silence enveloped the team as their brains churned, lost in thinking of the implications of the potential for a larger, more complicated plot. Even Dick had to admit, this was starting to look like more than a simple, open and closed case that would end in a matter of days. Drugs were one thing, and not something out of the ordinary for Bludhaven at all, but with the addition of a modified drug, they were now playing with more fire than he'd initially thought…And just when he thought he knew what to expect from Bludhaven. 

"Not necessarily. Assassins are often for hire by different individuals and groups that they don't necessarily share ties with. It doesn't mean these people are connected by one plot," reasoned Ziva. 

Dick was still and silent as the group continued the conversation around him, and he could hear ideas and theories being bounced around. What Ziva said was true—just because there were people out there like the League of Assassins didn't mean they always exclusively worked for their mentors and colleagues. In general, assassins went where the pay was best and jobs were forthcoming. They didn't ask questions or complicate situations. In and out—that was their way. 

Something about this was just giving him a bad feeling. Maybe it was the assassins tied to a drug case, or Tyler Keaton's manila case file on top of Batman's unsolved pile, or even the ever paranoid part of him that had been drilled and trained extensively by Batman, but this case was starting to feel like something more in line with what Young Justice had dealt with. The weird, freaky, supernatural, super-powered problems were all up that alley, and had been something he'd dealt with everyday while with his old team. But this was different. This wasn't Young Justice anymore. This was being presented to him while he was a normal, everyday cop, and there were federal civilians involved. If this ended up being something far more than a drug case…the last thing he wanted was for anyone to get hurt. 

The others were still talking around him, and he was sure valid probabilities were being discussed, but the words just weren't penetrating his skull far enough to be translated to English and processed to mean something to him. It was like gnats were buzzing around his ears—there and audible, but not decipherable. 

His eyes darted around the room, for what he didn't know, and stopped on something to his left. To the side of the group was a long table laden with plastic evidence bags. On large white labels covering the front of the bags careful Sharpie handwriting detailed the contents of the bag and where it came from, with loopy scrawl indicating a signature for chain of custody. Whoever it was, they were thorough. Bags from both apartments were crowding the long table, and Dick could see everything from a computer to toothbrushes to random sets of key rings. Everything but the kitchen sink. 

Dick started rummaging through the bags, examining pieces of mail and little desk bobble heads. _Conan. Not bad dude._ He didn't know what he was looking for, or even if he was looking for anything at all. Right now, he was just searching, shifting through the scraps they had, waiting for something to click or inspiration to hit. What with everything they'd pulled from Fernandez's house alone, they had to have _something_. A picture, an address, a piece of paper detailing the entire dastardly plan—whatever it took to figure out what was the next step to take before Bludhaven suffered a hit it couldn't recover from. Dick was far too invested to let that happen. 

The next bag he opened was a myriad of cards. Dick shifted through credit cards registered to various names, licenses…What did he need here, a membership card to Villians Incorporated (with 20% off all villainous purchases when you sign up!). No, as nice as that would be, he only needed something that didn't fit, something that didn't belong. 

On that thought, he caught sight of a bright neon green card in the pile. He picked it up, and turning it back to the front, he saw that it wasn't a credit card, but an entry card to a company that manufactured fake grass. They had a building down in the industrial district, but as far as Dick knew, they were closed. 

He turned around to look at the group conversing behind him. "Hey guys?" Words died on the tip of Tony's tongue as they all looked at him. He waved the neon green card in the air. "Do we happen to have a job history on Mr. Fernandez?" Tony and Ziva gave him curious looks as he tossed the card Abby's way. 

Spinning back in her chair, she had a browser pulled up in seconds. "Well, according to his background check, he's never worked for StayGreen Grass, that's for sure." There was more tapping as her fingers blurred across the keyboard. "Actually, the place is just downtown, and it's been closed five years. No reason to keep a security card around that long, right?" 

"Not unless he was still using it," Gibbs replied grimly. 

"You think we have a potential base of operations? Because an abandoned grass warehouse sounds like drug cartel heaven to me," DiNozzo said. 

"To me also," Ziva intoned. McGee nodded, his face surly again now that Dick had rejoined the conversation. 

Gibbs gave a single nod. "Alright. Gear up." He quickly marched out of the room, with Tim and Ziva right on his heels. On his way to the door Tony clapped him on the shoulder and sent a jaunty grin his way. "Nice going on the find, kid." And he was out the door. 

Dick stared at where everyone had disappeared through, his body frozen. He didn't think Gibbs command also extended to him—it was only through luck and polite courtesy that they'd allowed him to tag along this far. He may have found them evidence and taken down a bad guy (forgive me, Bruce), but he wasn't part of their team. They already had a family, a unit; they didn't need anyone else. It was simply a matter of time before his 'police liaison' status expired, as did his usefulness to them. They already had their base, right? They'd be gone before he knew it. 

"Dick?" At Abby's voice, he spun around to face the goth. She was staring intently at him, her eyes wide and eager. Abby was the picture of pure excitement. 

"Yeah Abby?" 

"Are you Richard Grayson? As in Bruce Wayne's son?" Dick's eyes widened fractionally. Damn it. He knew none of them knowing who he was was almost too good to be true. Figures it would be Abby to figure it out too. 

He let out a weak laugh. "Ha…Surprise. You got me." His smile was forced, and he could feel its fakeness poisoning his mood. 

Abby let loose a toothy grin and her hands flew loose as she started gesturing. "Seriously? That is so cool! I was actually invited to interview there at Wayne Enterprises for some tech job, and I was seriously considering it because your dad is like one of my major idols. I mean, if it were up to me, I'd have nothing but Wayne tech, but unfortunately I also have a budget assigned to me. You know, I'd seen pictures of you in the papers with your dad, but I also wasn't sure if it was you, because you were a lot younger in the pictures and it's different seeing you in a police officers outfit, not that it looks bad—". Her monologue skidded to a halt as she looked at him again. "Sorry. I do that a lot. I kind of talk when I get nervous." 

Dick sent her a small smile. "Really? I hadn't noticed." 

She heaved a little sigh. "Yeah. Sorry about that. But _seriously_. What was it like growing up with Bruce Wayne?" He must have made a small face that Abby interpreted as confusion, because she hastily continued, "Because, I mean, I know you were adopted. It's ok, I was too." _Yeah, I know Abby_. "Sorry, I'm being insensitive aren't I?" 

It's just…wow, he was not expecting this today. "No, no, you're ok, really. Sometimes I just forget that people out there know all about me." Which was stupid, really. Talk about a major lapse in vigilance. 

She shrugged. "Everyone has an origin story." At that Dick had to choke back a laugh. _You have no idea._ She continued on with a smirk. "Most people just don't have theirs on Wikipedia." 

Dick's smile unfroze and his laugh was more genuine as he chuckled at Abby. "It's crazy, right? I used to go on there and put random things just to see what I could get away with. For about two months it said my role model was Squidward and my dream job was finding out how to make peanut butter explode, until Bruce found out." 

Abby laughed along with him, until her face took on that curious, cautious expression that Dick had come to avoid at all costs. "So really. What is he like? What was it like living with him?" 

_Thanks Bruce._ These were the times he wished Bruce wasn't the posterchild for airhead billionaires. He felt like defending the man who was like a father to him, but at the same time, it was a cover. Bruce felt he had to be seen that way. So it came down to a balancing act of doing him justice and telling people what they expected. "He's honestly pretty normal. I know the papers made him out to be some playboy, but he is pretty great. We play basketball, and spent a lot of time together when I was younger. He's not the ditz everybody thinks he is." 

Abby blinked a few times, and the next words out of her mouth he wasn't expecting at all. "Oh I know. Bruce Wayne is a genius, there's no denying that." 

All Dick could manage was a confused, "Huh?" Since when did _anyone_ not in the know think that? 

She looked at him as if to say _of course._ "I know that's what people say, but no way. I did my research when they invited me to come work there, and I was impressed. Wayne Foods produces specialized products like ecological foods, and natural lines with no additives, which is super cool, Wayne Tech had gadgets that make my head want to explode just thinking about them, and Wayne Industries was rated the cleanest industrial division in the world. That's not even mentioning the Wayne Foundation, which donates hundreds of millions more than LexCorp every year and helps so many people. Your dad may not own the company, but he does own a majority of the shares, and I think it's not a coincidence his company flourishes." 

He was a little shell shocked, but he tried to play it off as smoothly as he could. "Huh. Yeah, when you put it that way…" When you put it that way, how could anyone ever think Bruce was anything less than a brilliant business tycoon? Leave it to Abby to cut right to the facts. 

She tilted her head slightly and Dick watched as her pigtails stayed parallel. "Everyone here must be so jealous." 

He internally groaned. Yes, everyone would probably be insanely jealous. And that was exactly why he hadn't told. This was his own life, and if no one knew who he was before, then that was that. Here he was a cop, and not the son of a billionaire. He conceded with a half shrug. "Ha, yeah, they probably would be if they knew." 

Abby's face, with wide eyes and open mouth, resembled a goldfish. A very, very gothic goldfish. "How can they not know? Why didn't you tell them? They're your teammates, your comrades, your men in arms, your—". She paused and held up her hand, and Dick waited as she seemed to process an idea through her Abby circuitry. When she put her hand back at her side, she scrunched her mouth to one side. "You didn't tell them did you? You kept it a secret from them." 

Dick shook his head. "No. It's easier to be my own person this way. No one thinks they already know me based off of what they read in the paper or online. I love Bruce, but right now I'd rather be known as Dick Grayson, cop extraordinaire. He understands that." 

Abby nodded thoughtfully, then looked sharply back at him, her eyes alert. "Gibbs and the team don't know, do they?" Dick shook his head no. Abby gave him long look. "You don't want me to tell them, do you?" 

Dick internally gulped in a deep breath of fresh air. She really, finally got it. She understood. He flashed her a grateful smile. "If you could keep it between you and me, I'd really appreciate it." 

She mimed zipping her lips shut. "Your secret is safe with me. Although, for the record, I don't think it matters. Where you come from is just as important as where you are now. And family is family, no matter who they are or where they're from." Dick's expression froze on his face at that. 

"Dick." Gibbs voice came from behind him, and turning, he saw the silver haired man standing in the doorway. "You coming?" 

Dick grinned as he followed Gibbs through the door. Time to join his new family.

* * *

 **TBC-**

 **Thank you again for all who've reviewed! It always makes me smile when I see new reviews – I just love reading your opinions on characters, plot, etc, your questions, and ideas you might have. They're what keep me going, and I don't think I can thank you guys enough!**


	7. Unloaded Weapon

**A/N- Let me start off by apologizing PROFUSELY. I am so, so sorry this chapter took a month to put out. Between the difficulty of getting the action scene right and school starting up, plus me starting my new job and having to go through training with that, I have been overwhelmed with things that all needed my immediate attention. And unfortunately, there are only so many hours in the day, and this is one of the things I had to bump (along with free time and a life) in order to get what I needed to get done, done. I'm still trying to get into a pattern here, so that I have more time to update more frequently than monthly. That is really not cool. The chapter is a little shorter than my outline calls for, but I also figured you guys wanted a chapter sooner rather than later, soo…**

 **Guys, I am literally bursting with ideas for the next story. Seriously, it's getting crazy- I'm still working on this story and am completely, 100% dedicated to it, but I am overflowing with ideas for book #2. I haven't even got a rough draft or rough plotline drawn out yet, and already Muse is like "Do this! Ooh, a scene like this would be awesome. Don't forget to add them in." I literally have a booklet full of ideas that may just write the plot themselves. Why is it that the Muse speaks to me so much for the next one and not what I'm writing now? It's irritating. She's an inconsistent, fickle thing. But on the bright side, I'm already looking forward to writing #2.**

 **Also, NCIS IS ON NETFLIX! Do you guys realize how much this makes my life complete?!**

 **Also also, I've been contemplating moving this story over to the Young Justice stories section, and not having it be in the crossover section. I feel it may get more traffic/attention there, and I definitely want this story to be recognized and read (the crossover stories on this site are always hidden in the background—it's hardly fair). The only reason I'm hesitant about doing this is I don't want people who are already following the story to not be able to find it; I wouldn't do that to people. So, dilemma…**

 **Thanks you to all of you lovely people who reviewed- starletzrose, CrystalSapphiremoon, shattered rainbow, PSML, Nomad-117, Lyn, and 2 Guests. You guys make my day!**

* * *

Chapter 7

Dick had a stomach of steel. 

After all, how could he not? Put a child who had been on the high wire practically since he could walk, performing endless flips and spins in and around a big top under circus lights, with a young vigilante who flung himself dauntlessly along the cityscapes, finding himself in impossible situations and tight spots, and the end result would be someone who could probably go at Tasmanian Devil speeds. 

He had a feeling right now was one of those times his stomach was being tested. 

Gibbs sat in the driver's seat, his hands sliding expertly over the tan leather wheel and his foot obviously leaden as they maneuvered the busy Bludhaven streets. Ziva sat beside him, cool as a cucumber as she moved in sync with the cars wild veers. And somehow Dick had ended up in the back, wedged between Tony and Tim. Murphy would get a kick out of the irony. 

Actually, Dick amended, it wasn't that bad. Neither of the men had spoken, but it wasn't an awkward or stiff silence. It was more…pensive. Tony was leafing through the file he had received on the StayGreen Grass Company (nothing Dick couldn't recite to him off the top of his head, but he figured it was typical cop legwork), a tiny furrow settling between his eyebrows as he read. And Tim, who was leaning against the other window, was obviously too busy trying to keep his dinner down, judging by the hand curled protectively around his stomach and the suspicious lack of color in his face. Despite his previous surly behavior, Dick couldn't help but feel bad for him. Not everyone had the stomach to go the speed of light. 

A battered, half lit sign announced their entrance into the Bludhaven Industrial district, and not more than two minutes later they pulled around the back of a large, unassuming building. McGee was out of the car in an instant, and the rest soon clambered out behind him, joining together on one side of the vehicle. Around them, the black night was interspersed with a million and one city lights trying their best to make the grim city shine. 

Tony's face, half lit in a yellow glow under the street lights, looked on quizzically at Dick. "You are surprisingly upright for someone that just experienced their very first Gibbs ride along." 

Dick had to laugh at that one. "I can thank Rohrbach for that. Seriously, the woman belongs in a Fast and Furious movie, the way she drives." _Very true, but she doesn't have anything on Bruce. Compared to him, Gibbs is tame._

A hand appeared outstretched in front of Tony, and he turned to see a smug Ziva perched at his side. "I believe you owe me something Tony." Grudgingly Tony pulled out a ten dollar bill and slapped it into Ziva's waiting hand. "Thank you very much." She smiled coyly as she tucked the money into her pocket. 

Dick couldn't believe it. "You guys _bet_ on me? Seriously?" Tony didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. 

He shrugged. "Yeah, sorry. I had to go with the odds on this one. I mean, first time McGee was out with him, we had to totally redo the upholstery. How was I supposed to know you had a cast-iron stomach?" Tim shot him a look of betrayal from his hunched position by the car. 

"I did," Ziva stated confidently. Tony cast her a withering look. "What? I had complete confidence in him." She sent a playful wink Dick's way, and he couldn't help but chuckle. 

"I'll get you next time, just wait and see," Tony taunted Ziva. His next words were said in a low voice so only Dick could hear. "She'll rue the day she bets against a DiNozzo." Dick rolled his eyes and gave the older man a light shove. 

The group sobered when Gibbs approached. McGee was also regaining his composure alongside the car, and as soon as his head raised up from between his knees, he expertly avoided looking at the area where Dick was standing. Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

Gibbs wasted no time on pleasantries. "Alright, let's be smart about this. We don't know how many people are in there, or their locations. Could be empty, or we could be dealing with a nest of criminal activity. Anything worth mentioning from the file DiNozzo?" 

"Nope. Clean bill of health before the business went under. It's been empty ever since. Are we sure this is the place boss?" 

"Positive," Dick said. When four quizzical faces stared back at him he rolled his eyes. _Always with the skepticism._ "Come on, it's obvious. The blacked out windows are a recent addition—no self respecting business would have those, so they must be an attempt to keep people from finding out what's really going here. There are no cars parked here, which might indicate it's empty, but the lot across the street is oddly full, despite it being two in the morning. Also, all the video cameras around the area" he gestured to the limp mechanical devices having from the light poles "have been taken out. Again, not something a respectable business would actually want. Therefore, one plus one plus one equals secret drug manufacturing facility." Too sassy? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely. 

Tony shook his head in disbelief. "Ok, Sherlock, if you keep this up, we're going to have to get you your very own deerstalker hat. But _seriously_ , where do you pull this stuff from?" 

Dick shrugged, but he couldn't avoid the shit-eating grin that spread across his face as he pointed to himself. "Cop," he said simply. The look on Tony's face was priceless. 

Ziva interceded as Tony opened his mouth again. "Ok, so we know this is the correct location. How do we proceed?" 

Gibbs turned his attention to the building in front of them, and started gesturing at opposite ends of the structure. "There's an entrance on either side of the building that both feed directly into the main operating floor. Grayson, McGee, Ziva, I want you on the right. Me and DiNozzo have the left. I want this efficient. In and out." He gave a curt nod, and the two groups split toward their respective entrances. 

Dick could feel his pulse starting to climb as he trailed behind the two federal agents. It wasn't because he was nervous—no, Dick was both born and trained for moments like this, where adrenaline only served to heighten his awareness and fine tune his senses. The world seemed to slow down and the details became dazzlingly clear, and for a split second he knew what Wally felt like. It was a skill he'd always excelled at—maybe not to Bruce's level, but as near as anyone could get. And he was ready to do it tonight. The performer in him was ready to show what he could really do, to _perform_. 

But that was the problem wasn't it? As they rounded the corner, concrete walls rising high above them, McGee and Ziva both pulled out their guns. The young hero watched as the two settled the unforgiving metal into their palms and became one with their cold weapons. McGee's fingers were slow in turning off the safety and his stance wasn't one of complete confidence, but maybe Dick was comparing him to Ziva, who was handling her weapon as if it were an extension of her own arm. 

Dick couldn't show what he could really do. Not here anyway, not in front of them. If he was back with his team, flying on the bioship to some covert operation, he'd have his belt inventoried and fully stocked on batarangs, tasers, small explosives, escrima sticks, and gas pellets, to name a few. As it was, he actually had all of those things on him ( _Never leave home without it—first thing Batman taught me_ ). But he couldn't use any of them, not if he wanted to keep his identity a secret. Even using his abilities and skills as a master acrobat and martial artist were out of the question unless he wanted to call into suspicion the skills of a brand new cop. 

As a result, he couldn't help but feel…naked. Like Batman trying to be Batman while he was still Bruce Wayne. 

He was a deadly weapon. But was a weapon if it wasn't loaded? 

The three approached the blank steel door ahead of them. A round red light on the left revealed a small black box with a deep slot, and instantly Dick wanted to bang his head against the wall. _There's only one keycard, and the other group has it. We can't just let Tony and Gibbs go in alone—we need to get in now, to divert attention away from them…_

"Dick," Ziva's confused voice sounded softly beside him. "Is there a problem?" 

McGee shoved him aside. "I got it," he said snidely. Dick narrowed his eyes, and it took all of his patience and restraint to push back the increasingly tall wall of anger he felt as Tim got to work on separating the different colored wires. _Stop Dick! Don't be stupid. Just…breathe. Calm down._ He had to remember he wasn't the go-to tech guy on this team. That wasn't his role here. He knew that, and somehow, it still hurt a little to know he wasn't needed. 

The light turned green, and the door gave way with an electronic beep. A split second later, they were sprinting through the door as the sound of gunshots echoed inside. 

Over the threshold, Batman's deep voice sounded in his mind. _Know your surroundings—being aware of the space makes you master of it._ In a heartbeat, Dick's training kicked in. The dirty warehouse was far larger than what it looked from the outside, and the middle of it was covered in rows of tables laden with silver scales and tubs of white powder. Heaps of suitcases lay at one end, and at the other the suitcases were in careful rows. A table with a black, nondescript laptop sat further away. 

Scattered around the tables all facing the other doorway were 25 rough looking men. Dick quickly took into account their plain but shady clothing and their hardened, determined faces. And the guns they were carrying, which was a small arsenal. Mostly handguns, but two rifles. 

At the far end of the warehouse Tony and Gibbs were under heavy fire. Dick couldn't be 100% sure, but it looked like they'd ducked behind an imposing piece of machinery by the door to avoid the hailstorm of bullets coming their way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ziva raise her gun to shoulder level, and two bullets quickly found their way into the hearts of the men. 

The thugs slumped to the ground, and the three of them quickly had the attention of more guns than they could handle. Several had hardened eyes trained on Ziva, and before they could even think about pulling the trigger Dick had taken out two of them with perfect shots between the eyes. Like an extra nail on the cross. 

Ziva, ever quick and nimble, dove behind a forklift to her left as the torrential stream of bullets persisted. She had the experience to know that there was no way she could get a shot off right now, not with the fire power these men had behind them. Beside Dick, McGee gulped loudly, and fired off three loud shots of his own with shaking hands. All of them went wide, soaring harmlessly behind their assailants. 

But now he had their attention. With a few frenzied shouts, they redirected themselves toward Tim and Dick. Lowered guns rose like flags, all of them with a common goal—a bullet through McGee's brain. 

And suddenly, everything was moving as if they were plunged underwater. 

It was surreal. For a moment, just a sliver of a breath, Dick was the master of his reality. He could feel his heart in his chest mid beat. He could see the white of McGee's eyes as he took in what he thought would be his last breath. 

Dick knew he only had a few moments—seconds—before this burst of clarity faded, and everything crashed back down around him. So it was with no hesitation that he grabbed McGee on his left side, snaking his arm around him. With his right he shot at a table some three feet in front of them. As the bullet clipped the metal leg and the table fell on its' side with a bang, he slid behind it, McGee in tow. Now they had a shield and protection. If only for a moment. 

As soon as they found their place in between the legs of the plastic table, the world resumed around them. The wall behind where they'd been standing was riddled with bullets, and Dick's ears were flooded with the sounds of men shouting and the cacophony of explosive projectiles. McGee sat wide-eyed beside him, his chest heaving and his lip bumbling up and down. 

"But you…I just…How…" Tim's voice was filled with incredulous awe, and he was looking at him with an expression Dick had only ever seen once before on the man's face. Instantly, Dick was transported back to that night seven years ago, when the young heroes been trapped in that room with only an NCIS team for company. Tim had stared at him with the same open admiration then, and that was when Dick had been under the guise of Robin. To see him looking at him like that…Dick didn't know what to say. 

He clasped his hand on Tim's shoulder and stared him directly in the eye. "No big deal Tim. You would have done it for me." Because ultimately, no matter how McGee had treated him or if Dick was currently a 'civilian' or hero, he would always save someone that needed him. It was who he was. 

He could see the wheels grinding in McGee's head, and shame and regret washed over his features. It didn't take a genius to figure out what McGee was thinking of. Dick only hoped he would actually get the chance to apologize. Because at this rate, he wasn't sure McGee had the skills to walk out of here. 

The table shuddered with explosive thuds in front of them, and McGee let out a soft shout of surprise. "They're still firing at us," he hissed between his teeth. If only he'd been wearing his brown pants tonight. 

"Tim." Tim looked at him, eyes wide, and Dick pointed at the table. "The table's made of polyethylene. It should stand up against them for a little longer." _Beside, now's the fun part_ , he thought. It'd been a little while since he'd been in this kind of brawl and he was itching to get out there and _move_. It was engrained in him, he could feel it under his skin—the need to flip and tumble, to soar through the air, to kick and punch. None of his signature stuff, of course, but enough to kick ass. 

At this point Dick knew it was only a matter of time before they switched from firing on their location to approaching it, and he crouched, the grasp on his gun tight. Over the sound of gunfire, he could hear several pairs of boots striking the ground, slow and steady. Cautious. _Bring it on_. 

All it took was a flicker of black out of Dick's peripheral to see the barrel of a rifle staring down at him, and instantly he was flying into motion. Flipping over the table to the opposite side, he grabbed the rifle from the man's arms, and with a smirk, slammed the butt of it into his shocked face. The man crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

Quickly another filled in his spot, and Dick found himself in the center of three men coalesced around him, circling him like dogs. As if on cue, they attacked simultaneously. All seemed to more experienced and skillful, coming at him with a variety of street strength and quick reflexes. Good thing he was faster. He blocked every hit and ducked every swing. He weaved in and out of them, throwing well-timed punches and decisive attacks that continued to throw them off balance. They seemed surprised that he, the smallest of the four of them, was holding his own. He couldn't beat them for size, but he certainly could for agility and knowledge. 

Almost as if Batman had heard the direction his overconfident thoughts were taking him, the fight took a turn. Dick could still hear fighting and gun shots over the din, and somewhere he thought he heard a grunt that sounded distinctly like Ziva. All it took was that sound, a white hot pain in his side, and the leader, an ugly brute, to take the advantage. 

The man pulled a crowbar out of nowhere and raised it above his head as Dick gasped for breath, sinking to his knees.

* * *

 **TBC-**

 **Here is the part where I'll answer (cryptically, illusively, evasively) some questions that have been asked-**

 **Chise Sakamoto- Will Gibbs figure it out first? Or will it take until he meets Nightwing?** Well, we all know Gibbs. He is nothing if not a sleuthy detective wrapped in a taco shell of enigma and coffee. I'd say your bet on him figuring it out is good (anyone wanna take that action?). But just to sow some doubt—don't forget, Dick is good. Trained by Batman good. Not to mention the rest of Gibbs team has suspicions. Who knoooowws? Sorry, now I'm just being a jerk. Also, I'm guessing you're talking about Dick=Nightwing when you saw 'figure it out'. Remember the trifecta of hidden identities (hint hint wink wink). What do you see happening?

 **Guest- What will prevent Dick telling them that he used to be Robin whenever they meet him as Nightwing?** Wow, all three identities used in a sentence—gold star for you! I guess that's a good question. What would prevent him? It certainly still wouldn't tie Robin or Nightwing back to Dick, necessarily. I guess the only thing preventing him from spilling the beans is what he's been taught. His heart (which Dick listens to all the time—he's a very heart conscious person) is telling him to connect as Nightwing to the people he connected with as Robin, but his head knows that the more connections are made, the closer they are to finding out the truth. So, it's all up to Dick and what he wants to do. What do _you_ think?

 **Nomad-117- I am a little confused about McGees attitude. It is obvious that he doesnt like Dick for whatever reason? Why does he also dislike Nightwing?** **He enjoyed his work with the Young Justice team, so why would he suddenly be so anti-vigilante/hero?** **Will other members of the Batfamily appear? Like Batgirl aka Barbara Gordon who is his major love interest if I am not mistaken, or is she Oracle by this point?** I'm going to try and answer this as best I can for clarity without spoiling later scenes. McGee deals in concrete facts, and quantifiable data. The more familiar, the better. He isn't the type to readily believe in magic. The reason he enjoyed working with Young Justice is because they became more than just magic beings that he was skeptical about from afar—he got to know them as individuals, and they were more than a mask to him. Right now, that's all Nightwing is to him—an anonymous mask who could potentially have powers. Also, McGee is a stickler for the rules, and he hasn't got on board with the fact that vigilantes work outside the law. As far as other members of the Batfamily, my answer is yes, one/some of them shall appear. Will I tell you who? No :) because I'm evil like that.

 **Also, requests for a NCIS/Nightwing team up have been made, and believe me, I hear you loud and clear. Fret not, young grasshoppers, the time will come. I'm telling you right now, this shiz will happen. All I need is your patience. But for right now, continue to favorite, follow, read, and review! I love the questions and comments, because it tells me what angle everyone is reading from, which is always endlessly interesting. It also makes me reevaluate and ask questions I haven't yet, which is incredibly useful.**


	8. What Was a Little Bullet Wound?

**A/N- Starting each chapter out with an apology seems like my MO by now, right? As always, super sorry guys. College amps up the work and the assignments, and every time you think you have the hang of it, BAM. You're behind again. It's the never ending cycle, and add in work to the mix, and my eternal state of procrastination… oy. Not to mention I've been hit with one of the worst cases of writer's block I've had in a while. I have it all plotted, it's just the actual writing that's got me stuck. Right after a cliff hanger too! Wow, I really am a mean person. Feel free to stone or maim me, really.**

 **Just got a Nightwing Funko!Pop doll the other day – its freakin adorable!**

 **Also, cookies to whoever spots the two references hidden in this chapter!**

 **Thank you to all of you lovely people who reviewed- PSML, CaraLee934, Amitris, authorwannabe101, starletzrose, Chise Sakamoto, shatteredrainbow, motion sickness, Vanne-the-bookworm, and Guest. You guys rock!**

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Chapter 8

If you took a look at the Justice League and its founding members in one room, you would be overwhelmed. Not just from the sheer amount of spandex outside of a gymnastics competition either. No, even as a hero, being in the presence of such immense power and strength and justice – you can't help but leave the room hoping a little had rubbed off on you, like it made a difference that you breathed the same air as them or something. You can't help thinking _I think I'm going to go save a town and 3.5 old ladies from imminent destruction now_.

Of the Justice League, there were seven founding members – Aquaman, Flash, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, and Green Lantern. They had joined together when the Earth needed them most, and had stayed together as a team long afterwards. Because the world doesn't ever _not_ need saving, right? Now, they were over a hundred strong, and were a force to be reckoned with throughout the galaxies.

The League, being full of fair and honest folk, operated under the understanding that everyone was on equal ground. If you were in, you were in, and there was no pulling of rank or unfair advantages given. It was a good policy to have, seeing as most, if not all, of their members were recognized as heroes from wherever they hailed from. It made finding a real way to rank or measure superiority next to impossible.

That was the official rule, anyway. Dick (and everyone else, for that matter) knew differently. The unsaid rule was that the big seven (as they were affectionately coined) had a little more weight to throw around, being the founders of the League and all, and the new members were handed a little more grunt work in the beginning. It made sense, even though Dick was all for equal footing A pecking order had to be established, however, for the sake of the League's effectiveness and efficiency.

What had surprised him most was an additional, higher order than even the big seven. When Dick was a younger Robin, Batman had brought him to the Watchtower. For a nine year old boy who'd recently been adopted by Bruce Wayne and even more recently been brought into the exclusive fold of superheroes, that was a dream. He'd pressed his cheeks on the windows and watched the world from afar, his breath fogging the glass as he traced continents with his small fingers. It brought a whole new meaning to his love of heights.

But even more interesting than the swirling white clouds on the faraway Earth that resembled a bouncy ball he used to have was the people on the Watchtower. When Dick was part of the circus he'd traveled and seen people of many cultures, so he wasn't scared of the strangers that passed through the halls of the spaceship – some of their countries were simply a little farther (galaxies) away. Instead, he watched them with all of the curiosity and intrigue of a child, talking to some of them and asking them all the questions he could think of.

When he wasn't talking to his fellow heroes, he was watching them and how they interacted and talked to each other. As a nine year old, Dick was immensely surprised to see heroes ( _super_ heroes) like the Flash and Martian Manhunter give Batman so much respect and rely on him so heavily. It wasn't that he didn't respect his mentor – he did, and he was well aware of Batman's fearsome reputation. But these people had _powers_. They could breathe underwater and run around the world in mere seconds and create things with their minds. Batman was only human (although Dick sometimes secretly wondered about that too).

It wasn't until he was a little older that he came to realize this higher place on the totem pole included not only Batman, but also Superman and Wonder Woman. Together, the three embodied all that the Justice League aspired to be – justice, hope, and truth, respectively. The two supers gained their way into this exclusive tier by way of their powers and their dedication to the League.

Batman though…he'd worked for it. There were no shortcuts or easy paths on his way to becoming the most dangerous human being to don a cape. He'd tested his every limit and ability to its max, and survived what most humans could only dream of. If it could be perfected or trained, Batman had done it and mastered it. He was the true embodiment of "you can do anything you set your mind to". Oxygen? You don't need it, not for seven minutes at least. Vision? Not necessary for a Bat. Trapped? Find a way out. Pain? Deal with it.

Dick had trained at the feet of the Batman, learning his views and ways and living his lessons for the better part of his life. If he actually stopped to think about it, he had been doing this for more than half of his life, something even Bruce couldn't say. And he'd been tempting gravity since the tender age of four.

So, in the grand scheme of things, what was a little bullet wound?

As soon as it pierced his side, he was sure of it. Dick had been there before – he was no stranger to the myriad of injuries that came with the vigilante occupation. At this point, it would actually be harder to find what hadn't been done to him.

It took a split second for his mind to stop the litany of _shitshitmother_ fucker _thathurts,_ to gather his breath and his wits long enough to take control, to overcome that overwhelming wave of pain as it threatened to beat him and bury him deep in a sea of red, to paralyze him completely.

He knew it was just a matter of compartmentalizing, of shoving the pain away in a box inside a chest inside a cellar in a subbasement in his mind, and quickly throwing the key away until he was alone in his apartment within reach of decent painkillers. Unfortunately, the task was made a tiny bit harder due to the fact that he was still sporting wounds from the shootout with Rohrbach, and various bruises that were still healing form his takedown of a few of the more nefarious drug operations here in Bludhaven.

Suffice to say, the chest in the subbasement was a tight fit, if it wasn't already overflowing.

But Dick didn't have time to deal with this, not in a warehouse full of thugs armed to the hilt, with a rather large, ugly goon standing over him. He could hardly ask the man if they could stop and wait for him to catch his breath. _Excuse me, good sir, I seem to have been shot. Could you possibly drive me to the nearest hospital, or at least lend me some gauze and pads? That'd be swell, thanks._ No, that probably wouldn't go over so well.

So he did the only thing he could do. He shoved the pain away, wrestling it and shoving it back with all the strength he had left. He padlocked it in, and almost sighed with relief as the pain subsided to nothing more than a dull roar. Bruce, master of _it's not there if I don't want it to be_ , would have been proud.

A whistling sound cut through the air, and Dick reacted without thinking as he quickly rolled to the side.

A black crowbar angrily bounced off the tired grey concrete floor where he'd been just half a second before. Dick could see a gauge where the bar had struck. _And that would have been my head._

Turning to face his large attacker, his face split into a taunting yet jovial smile. "Was that supposed to hit me? Looks like your aim could use some work buddy."

His blatant jeer had the intended effect. The man's blemished skin contorted into an ugly snarl, and his jet black eyes glittered with menace. He took one step forward. "Oh yeah pretty boy? You know what's gonna need work? Your face, when I'm done with it."

Dick lept to his feet in one smooth move, clenching his teeth as the box of pain rattled deep where he buried it. His eyes never left the man as he crouched, watching, waiting for an opening. The larger man certainly had a size advantage on him, and at a quick glance, he seemed to be uninjured. Translation: quick and agile would have to do seeing as he had the advantage of strength, and no weaknesses to exploit.

 _Alright, then I'll make my own opening._

He let the smile slide back onto his face. "Why does everyone always go for the face? Honestly, that has to one of the most overused lines out there. Do you guys all read from the same villain handbook or something? If so, I'd recommend coming up with some new material. It would do wonders for your delivery."

The man was moving before Dick had even finished talking. He rushed forward, the crowbar high overhead as he went for another crushing blow. Thankfully, Dick was ready. He skirted out of the way as the metal _whished_ through the air beside him.

Then the thug surprised him. He'd been expecting the mountain of a man to take a moment, reassess, and reattack. Instead, Dick was startled when an avalanche of blows rained down as the man swiped and bashed at him. _Shit_. He was suddenly on the defensive, dodging and dipping and doing everything in his power to stay out of arms reach.

They continued on for a few agonizing minutes, in which the man had surpasses all odds and managed to land hits on Dick's shoulder and forearm. The spots throbbed painfully down to the bone, and while he knew from experience that nothing was fractured or broken, he also couldn't afford to wait for the next hit. _If Bruce saw me right now…_ This had gone on for long enough.

It all happened so fast – faster, even, than one of Dick's moments. One second he was fingering his Glock, ready and (not so) willing to finish this dance, as the man's crowbar swung above his head. All it took was a quick _bang_ in the distance, and the thug was keeling over backwards with a bullet squarely between his eyes.

His heart thudding like a jackhammer against his chest, Dick's eyes swept up to meet Gibbs' from across the room. Even from across the length of the warehouse, Gibbs' steel grey eyes bored into him with laser focus, and Dick could see the unspoken deep well of emotions filtering across them. Concern and a silent inquiry flitted across, and Dick nodded his wellbeing. Gibbs nodded back, relief dancing across his eyes as Dick's health was confirmed, and just like that, the moment was over.

The fight was winding down; only eight men remained, and those that were left had run out of ammunition a while ago. Now forced to fight hand to hand, it was clear as day who the superior opponents were. Dick struck a glancing blow against one man and he sunk to the floor in a dazed state. Wiping his hands on his uniform, he watched from across the room as Ziva punched the last remaining man out cold. _Well damn_. Artemis, all grit and tough love, flitted across his mind's eye, and he hurried to push the thought out of his head before it could grow roots.

"Dick." Tony called from across the room. He, Ziva, and Gibbs were already making their way around to the men lying haphazardly all over the concrete floor, securing them with cuffs or zip ties. "You ok?"

His side twinged at the reminder. "Yeah, all good," Dick called across.

Tony nodded. "Good." He jerked a thumb toward Tim. "Go ahead and help McGee out with the computer mumbo-jumbo, will ya?"

McGee, whose head was already buried behind the laptop, popped up as abruptly as one of the whack-a-mole heads at the arcade that Wally always hit and pretended not to cheat. If it wasn't for the annoyed look on McGee's face, Dick would have thought it was funny. As it was, he sorely wished he had a whack-a-mole mallet in his hand as he crossed the now quiet warehouse. The only sound his sensitive ears picked up now was the metallic snapping of handcuffs, the _rrrrt_ of zip ties tightening, and the tapping of McGee's fingers dancing across the keyboard.

Dick stood behind McGee as he did his thing – the glares Tim kept throwing over his shoulder made it clear as day that he didn't want Dick working alongside him shoulder to shoulder. Like actual teammates, or anything else crazy like that.

Honestly, this whole sustained animosity thing was starting to drag and pull at Dick. It was exhausting, and he wasn't even the one who was mad. McGee seemed to harbor some degree of rage toward him, but as Dick stood behind him and stared at the back of his head, he honestly could say that he wasn't angry at Tim. Frustrated maybe, confused yes, but not angry. Maybe he'd done something unintentionally to anger the techie agent – he couldn't deny that it was possible. But what? What could he have done or said to deserve this degree of hostility? After saving his life not even an hour before, he'd thought that everything would be forgiven. Either way, he wished McGee would tell him, or even hint to him at it, so he could apologize and get this rocky beginning behind them.

Well, you had to start small right? He took a half step to the right so he could see the glowing screen McGee was hunched over. "Need any help?"

McGee twitched his head, but otherwise didn't tear his eyes away from the screen. "I got it, thanks," he replied in short, clipped tones.

Dick continued. "Because, you know, I'm no FBI agent, but I do have some tech know-how—"

"I'm good! Thanks but no thanks."

Dick fell silent. Okay, so Tim wasn't really warming up any yet. Emphasis on yet because come on – no one could stay this polarized, this angry for this long. At some point, McGee would have to take those walls down.

Still curious, he took a silent step forward so the words on the screen went from black smudges to a line of defined print running across the screen like a migrating colony of ants.

 _God Rob, you're such a little troll._ Artemis's words echoed in his head and he bit back a smile. _What can I say 'Mis, once a troll, always a troll._

Ahead of him, Tim was definitely not feeling the aster. The rigid form of his back and the increased tempo and pressure he was applying to the keyboard definitely spoke of troubles on the tech front. And sure enough, peering over McGee's shoulder at the lines of code, Dick could see that Tim's hacking wasn't getting him anywhere. The code was running him in circles, always bringing him back to the same entrance screen with each different hack he tried. Whoever had set up this computer was more than your average street criminal.

Leaning in a little closer, Dick could hear McGee muttering under his breath. "But that should've worked…maybe if I go back…different command code…"

"No luck?" Dick probed.

"Not yet…," Tim said, distracted.

Dick peered in next to him. "You went through the command prompt in safe mode?"

Tim nodded, a frown cutting into his cheeks. "Yeah….it kicked me back to the main screen." Dick nodded. That wasn't unusual – that was the simplest method, and so therefore the easiest to safeguard against.

"I'm guessing you don't carry a Linux Live CD with you?"

An embarrassed little smile wormed its way to the corner of McGee's frown, and Dick had to guess there was a bit of backstory on this one that he wasn't going to get. "Yup. NTFS drive doesn't even show up. Obviously all encrypted drives. I should've expected it."

Dick shrugged. "You had no way of knowing. I mean, now we're getting into experienced computer geek territory, which drug-dealing criminals typically are not. I bet if we take this back –"

Twitch.

That's all the warning Dick had before the nearest black lump of a criminal, formerly still on the floor, reached up, needle in his hand, and stabbed Tim deep in the calf and depressed a full chamber of a pure amber liquid into him.

Dick was on him in an instant. His blood rushed around his ears, pounding like the ocean in a storm as he grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket and threw him away from the table and the laptop and McGee.

Who was now leaning against the table, laptop long forgotten.

The team was running toward McGee, frantically asking questions. Their raised voices seemed to reverberate and echo and Dick couldn't concentrate over the rushing, roaring blood screaming for justice. "Stabbed," he got out. "Injected him with something."

He looked back down to the man who wore all black, and grabbed the man's collar to haul him up. "What did you inject him with?" he ground out, his voice such a low timbre that he almost mistook himself for Batman.

The man peered at him slyly for a moment, and then Dick's rage raised to hurricane status as a wide, wolfy grin spread across his tan skin. He looked Dick straight in the eyes as his chest shook with laughter. "Leave it to the Bludhaven police not to connect the dots. _Children_ , all of you."

Dick's hands were shaking with spasmodic tremors as he stared down at this man, red swimming at the edge of his vision. He never understood Bruce's monsters most of the time, and his temptation to do more than send his criminals into the revolving door that was Arkham Asylum, but in this moment he got it. He wanted to knock this man into unconsciousness, break his nose, pull his short blonde hair out of his scalp…

Dick looked at him again, really looked. He'd seen this man before, he knew it. Something about the shape of his head, the color of his hair, even his outfit…all were ringing bells somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, but from where? He wracked his brain… _How do I know you?_ The man grinned back, obviously taunting us as he silently dangled the unspoken question in front of Dick. _We've met, or at least seen each other…Bludhaven police…connect the dots…_

And suddenly Dick was plunged headfirst into a dark night lit only by streetlights and gunfire, hiding behind car doors and watching his comrade fall beside him…seeing men slump at car hoods and men with blonde hair run out of sight and out of reach…

This was him. This was their blonde, five foot nine, 170 pound contract killer and/or assassin. This was the man who killed with special knives instead of his Beretta 87 he had in his picket, and who had at least three suspected murders under his belt. At least.

And possibly a fourth in progress.

Dick glared back at him, desperately wishing at that moment for Superman's laser vision or at least something to channel through his eyes to inflict pain.

A lot of it.

The man's grin only got wider and toothier and more maniacal. "This is only the beginning," he mocked, his voice rough and scratched like a rusty pipe.

As the red film covered his eyes again, like a smokescreen of fury, he smashed his fist into the man's face and watched with satisfaction as his head cracked back on the concrete and his eyes closed as he was abruptly sent into the oblivion. Dick didn't usually get satisfaction from acts of violence, but today he found he would gladly make an exception.

That didn't last long. A crashing sound sounded behind him, and Dick turned to see Tim take the table down with him as he met the floor.

Even surrounded by his teammates, Dick could still make out Tim's shaking form writhing on the ground.

* * *

 **TBC-**

 **Caralee934- First of all, this is a refreshingly new twist in this category, second, it looks like you are actually going to finish it!** First of all, thank you! There is definitely a niche to be filled here, and if there's a story to tell, I'm more than willing to tell it J. And of course I'm going to finish this! I know sometimes it looks/sounds like I'm not going to (the month long waits between chapters doesn't help any), but believe me, when you have several stories planned in advance, there's really no choice in the matter. I'm just as excited as you guys are to see where it goes, and I'm the author. Believe me, no matter how painful, I will finish this tale!

 **Amitris- What is this past meeting between Dick and the team that you keep mentioning? Is it from another story?** Ok, so I'm not really big on the whole exposition, tell you every detail of the person's life before the story thing. It's a little boring, to me and to you guys. It's not another story currently, but it is something I have on the drawing board—the point at which the NCIS and Young Justice teams meet. Kind of a prequel for this story. For now, though, you have all the info you need—NCIS met Dick and the Young Justice team 7 years ago, and NCIS walked away with a whole new appreciation of vigilante awesomeness. I'm definitely interested in writing this prequel, if other people are interested in reading it :D

 **As always, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following this story, and I am so sorry for the delays. I am just thankful that you all are being so patient with me as I try to get my life and this story together! I'm excited for the upcoming chapters, and even more than that, the following story I have planned for this. Don't forget to leave your questions, comments, ponderments, concerns, and anything else in the reviews-it makes my day!**


	9. Tripwire Atmosphere

**I'M SORRY. DON'T HATE ME. MY LIFE IS A MISHMASH OF PROCRASTINATION, DUE DATES, OVERBOOKED SCHEDULES, FINALS, AND LARGE CAFFINATED BEVERAGES. JUST SAYING. Also, don't hate me because this chapter is shorter- I figured a short chapter is better than none at all, right? Even if it is a filler, it's me stepping back to this story.**

 **I'm so happy to see everyone enjoying the suspense and most of all (haha) the cliffhangers! I have to admit, I've had an evil ending the last two chapters—what can I say, I'm just feeling particularly devilish. But Dick would be glad to know all of you are worrying about him and his bullet wound.**

 **Thank you to all of you lovely people who reviewed- starletzrose, Cindar, authorwannabe, shattered rainbow, Nightwingsass, Lyn, Caleo4ever42, dragonlovewater, Platypus2014, TV Manic 2, lyn, DawnAlizeti, Vi-Violence, and 4 Guests. Thank you thank you to all who have contributed their thoughts and opinions. It means the world to me, and is the reason I continue to write and share my stories with you!**

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Chapter 9

 _Heh. Heh. Heh._

The leg pressed against Dick's was twitching, spasming erratically with no beat, rhythm, or logical pattern.

 _Heh. Heh. Heh._

But then, there was nothing within logical reasoning that would really explain all of this...not really. Nothing that a logically inclined historian, secretary, or store owner could reasonably fit into their daily regimen of things to look out for, to prepare for. There was nothing about this situation that when they left for the night they would think 'Huh. Need to be sure I bring an antidote for that next time.'

 _Heh. Heh. Heh._

Guess that just proved that life really was a matter of perspective. Yet another lesson learned from Atticus Finch.

 _Heh. Heh._

Batman's growling voice resonated behind his ears, growling in a voice so low only he could hear. _Focus. Assess. Strategize. Implement. You know how to deal with this._ The instructions, short and concise, drew Dick out of his molasses thoughts and into the tripwire atmosphere of the small car.

 _Heh. Heh. Heh._

Short, breathy gasps punctuated the silence in the air, dominating the space and leaving no room for conversation. Dick could see why; Tim's deep, strangled breaths seemed to make everyone else hold their breath for fear of stealing oxygen. It wasn't just him either. Gibbs' hands clenched whiter on the wheel with every passing minute, and at this point Dick was fairly sure any more pressure on the steering column and it would twist in his death grip. He couldn't blame him—with each gasping, desperate breath that Tim squeezed through his lips, it just sent a stabbing pang through Dick's chest (although nothing on the scale Tim must be feeling) that just reminded him of how utterly helpless he felt. As the drug coursed through Tim's veins and seeped into his very tissues and bloodstream, Dick could do nothing but hope, pray, and clench Tim's hand tighter in his own, his watch leaving painful imprints in his wrist.

 _Heh. Heh. Heh. Heeh._ Tim wheezed an especially forced breath of air.

Ha. That was what was so ironically, devastatingly, hit yourself funny about it. The more Dick wished for the damn watch to slow, to crawl at the same intolerable pace as when he was on a stakeout, the more the traitor hands seemed to race around the circular track, lapping each other in a competition where Tim's life was the prize. Bruce had handed him the onyx beauty in a simple, unassuming silver box with the uncharacteristically sensitive phrase _To treasure every moment._ Now those words were dripping on him like some ironic poison.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if Tim wasn't reacting so _quickly_. Dick didn't know if it was the drug itself or the sheer quantity in the syringe he was injected with, but Tim was deteriorating rapidly. He flashed back to the warehouse, recalling the precious moments right after.

* * *

 _At the warehouse_

Tim was sprawled out on the concrete floor, and even through the shield of his NCIS teammates Dick could see the occasional tremor running through his frame. His heart sounding in his ears, Dick quickly made his way back to the team, who were circling Tim like a screen protecting him from anything else life had to throw at him. At this point, though, the damage had been done.

On closer inspection, Tim's tremors appeared to run throughout his body, affecting different parts at random and without prejudice, covering every inch like an electric shock. With that, Dick could sympathize.

Tim's brows were clenched as tightly as his fists, and despite his new sitting position, the rigidity of his body betrayed his casual stance.

"Tim! Tim, are you okay," Dick asked, his tone laced with frantic worry. Already his mind was leaps and bounds ahead of him, thinking and processing as he thought back to countless missions where toxins were involved, or someone on the team was laced with some type of drug. With a start, he realized the basic kit he had on him didn't have his usual general antitoxin. He didn't know it was possible for his stomach to clench further, but obviously this was a day to be proven wrong about these things.

Tim's eyes clenched shut, and his voice shook coming out. "Ah…It hurts. It really hurts. But it" a spasm ran its way up his torso "c-could be worse."

Tim was an awful liar. And apparently Dick wasn't the only one who thought so.

Ziva gently laid the back of her hand on his forehead. "Tim, you're already running a mild fever, and your heart rate is far from normal." She turned to Gibbs, face as serious as a heart attack. "He needs medical attention right now."

Gibbs nodded, his face reflecting Ziva's stony exterior, and turned toward Tony. "Call an ambulance DiNozzo." Tony looked at him for a moment, the instruction seeming to go unheard or unacknowledged. Dick didn't blame him—in that moment where you found your teammate was hurt, your mind started spinning faster and faster, but like a wheel stuck in the mud, you got nowhere fast.

But now wasn't the time to freeze or balk at the face of danger, especially with the threat of the unknown breathing down Tim's neck. Years of vigilantism had instilled in Dick the power of fast action and quick thinking, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins was one of the best catalysts for decision making around.

Gibbs was of the same mindset. With a few short steps, he gripped Tony's shoulder and squeezed. His tone, brusque and clear and sending Dick back to moments of desperation and last minute action where all Batman could spit out was _Go! Now!_ , seemed to cut right through the tension in the air. "DiNozzo. _Now._ "

The rubberband of reality snapped back in place, presumably hurting Tony a little on the return trip. On the bright side it seemed to have magicked some sense and a feeling of urgency into him, because he gave a curt nod to Gibbs, and within seconds was dialing and had the phone to his ear.

The rest of them stood stiffly (or in Ziva's case, crouched next to Tim) as Tony spoke to an operator in clipped, concise sentences, giving all the information necessary with none of his confusion from before.

Several minutes passed and even Dick felt himself growing antsy despite Bruce's best lessons in patience and stoicism. Finally Tony lowered the phone from his ears and leveled with Gibbs' fierce gaze. One look at his acerbic expression, and Dick's stomach twisted into a tangled mess that could have rivaled the Gordian knot itself.

"Ambulance can be here in 40 minutes tops Boss. Apparently—"

Gibbs' eyes flashed and there was steel in his voice when he replied. "Not good enough. Get them here faster."

Tony's voice was taking on a desperate tone. "They can't Boss. They're all deployed right now. Something about a nursing home with a flu outbreak, and a shooting downtown." A shooting that might normally have been dealt with by Nightwing, Dick realized.

All Dick could see was Bruce's face as Gibbs angrily pointed a finger at the phone in Tony's hand. "Make. It. Happen. DiNozzo."

Dick took a long step forward. "Listen, the techs there at the switchboard know the police codes, just in case one of us calls in with an emergency. It's different if we call in—they make it a priority, and they would if they knew it was a federal agent's life on the line. Say it's…say it's a 10-18, 11-99, Code 11 SWAT call up. Officer Romero Juliett Golf 189 requesting assistance. It should speed things along." It wasn't much, but it was something. Anything at all was better than just standing here.

Tony nodded vigorously. "On it." He returned the phone to his ear. "Now you listen to me, you pompous bureaucratic douche canoe…" He continued verbally abusing the person on the line, his acrid tone growing increasingly biting as he spat out Dick's officer information.

Dick was distracted from Tony's impressive display of colorful vocabulary by that feeling of eyes watching him, raising the hair on the back of his neck. Turning, his gaze met Gibbs, and he watched as the old man observed him. He knew that look. That look was Bruce looked like when he could file one more revealing fact away about someone, put down one more piece to the puzzle of the human condition. He knew his face gave nothing away—he was too well trained to give away clues from facial expressions, but inside his already cluttered mind had one more problem to throw on the pile. What had he said that could possibly have blipped on Agent Gibbs' radar?

Ziva fired a question at Gibbs, breaking the two men from their silent battle of wills. "Will they even be able to treat him there Gibbs? Whatever this new drug is, will the hospital be able to diagnose this?"

Somewhere in Dick's mind, amid the chaos and wreckage, a lightbulb slowly but surely flickered to life as Ziva's words filtered in. This was supposedly a new drug to the streets, never before seen (at least in Bludhaven) and from the looks of it, it had never before been widely administered. This wasn't like a flu vaccination that was regularly given. The odds of hospitals having the antidote to most of the synthesized toxins and viruses that developed out there by evil criminal masterminds was slim, the only exception Dick could think of being Gotham. After all, with a psychotic, deranged clown running around that had access to his own exclusive Laughing Gas, you took precautions. Batman had the foresight to distribute the antidote to all Gotham hospitals. But even he had to synthesize a new antidote for every new venom that Joker managed to produce.

He had to speak up. This may not be his team technically—he was fully aware that for all intents and purposes he was nothing more than a guest, a liaison to NCIS on this investigation. Still, that didn't change the fact that he cared for them, and he didn't want to see them hurt. They had history, even if the team didn't know it. As much as it went against the decision he'd made two years ago, the decision he'd practically sealed in blood, he felt himself clinging to the connection to his past life. To the people that bridged the gap between who he was now and that person he used to be. They needed help, and this was a team he actually could save right here and now.

"Agent Gibbs, I think we should take him to Abby's lab." The older man turned his head to look at him, and he could almost feel the Bat glare and the clipped words that would follow. _Explain_. So he did. "We're dealing with specially designed, high dosage heroin. Just from looking at Nicholas we know this stuff is a different formula but McGee…" he glanced at the agents' shivering form, "either had a even more high concentrated dose, or there could be something different involved. I think Abby could formulate the antidote we would need to counteract the side effects."

Gibbs stared at him with an indecipherable look on his face. If gears were turning, if lightbulbs were sporadically flickering on, or even if there were a group of midgets in clown suits trying to put out a fire up there, Dick couldn't ell anything past Gibbs' pale, steel blue eyes that were on him, calculating and sizing him, somehow seeing through him and into his very soul. Dick had to remind himself for a split second that (as far as he and the League knew), Leroy Jethro Gibbs was human. _Remember, he can't read your mind._

McGee grunted as another wave of tremors ran through his body like a live wire. With steady hands Ziva steadied him, checking his pulse and temperature for reference. From his position on the side he heard Ziva murmuring reassurances. Dick almost took a step toward the downed man, but thought better of it. McGee wouldn't accept that kind of help from, even if he _was_ tempted to give it. And he would if he were Robin. But here he was Officer Grayson, someone Tim barely knew and clearly didn't like.

Amidst her ministrations to McGee, Ziva peered at Dick and gave him a look that was a hybrid of frustration and confusion. "Tim was given a high dose of heroin, yes? I don't see why that needs an antidote. It's a high, concentrated dose, but that can be treated with methadone and other pain relievers."

Dick shook his head. "If it were just a regular dose of heroin, sure, that would be the regular treatment. But we don't know how concentrated this dose is. Not to mention there could be other chemicals or compounds mixed in…or this could be something else entirely, with long term physical or mental effects." He'd seen it too many times not to take this seriously.

Ziva made eye contact with Gibbs, and a long conversation was held between the two that didn't involve words. Dick suddenly felt like he was intruding on something private and personal. _Huh. Wonder if that's how people feel around me and Bruce. Wally always used to say…_ Dick shook it out of his head. Doesn't matter. He didn't need to be a mind reader to tell that his trustworthiness (in a town of crooks and cowards) was certainly being measured, along with the urgency of the situation.

Tim, obviously only semi-aware of the purely ocular conversation happening in front of him, struggled to lift his head to meet Dick's eye. His forehead was shining with sweat under the warehouse lights, and his voice cracked under some hidden strain as he spoke. "What else could this be Grayson? Abby said it was heroin earlier—why would they change it all of a sudden?"

It's not exactly like he could whip out his vigilante resume and cite his past experiences with homicidal, gas wielding evil villains on this one, but damn, he wished he could. "Because it's Bludhaven and you can never be too sure about anything here. Believe me, you'll feel better and be _alive_ if Abby can check you out and actually create an antitoxin that targets whatever was in that syringe. Abby's smart—I'd trust her over your generic hospital tests any day." _And if all that fails, I have more antidotes in my locker than I know what to do with._

Ziva looked contemplative, like it wasn't the worst idea in the world, and Gibbs had resumed his in depth visual dissection of Dick's existential being. Tim just looked spacey.

Tony returned to the conversation with a clear of his throat and a curious look around. One hand covering the cell, he directed his next words towards Gibbs. "Ambulance is on its way Boss. They'll be here in 30, which is sooner than the 40 they were promising earlier. Sorry, even with Grayson's connections it's the soonest I could get."

Gibbs answered immediately, and Dick could see that this news wasn't the deciding factor—he had already made up his mind. "Get him to the car. Bludhaven police department is 25 minutes away—we can make it in 10. Move!"

* * *

 **TBC-**

 **My special hugs go out especially to shattered rainbow and TV Manic 2. A double helping of thanks to shattered rainbow, for always taking the time to post a comment that always tells me what you're thinking and what you liked in particular about the chapter. The insight is invaluable, and you really make me double back and recheck my own work, going through it with a fine tooth comb. Critical/constructive evaluations ftw! Thanks so much for doing more than just reading! And also to TV Manic 2. I've been following your In Between Series for Young Justice as soon as I found them, and believe me, it's been a great read all the way through! I love the work you do, the special attention you give to Dick (a pastime I obviously indulge in too), and the way you interact with your readers. Thank you for the keen observations—not gonna lie, I'm fangirling pretty hardcore over here.**

 **Shattered rainbow- I feel like Gibbs is going to put things together eventually and that this fight was a clue...like, why would Dick fight hand-to-hand for so long when he was losing and not use his gun? Most cops probably wouldn't do that, or be a skilled at hand-to-hand.** Thanks a million! I'm glad to hear that you'd read a prequel, but of course I'll finish this one first. Yes, Dick's feelings about the NCIS run a little deeper than they're fully aware of right now. And you bring out an excellent point about Dick's hand to hand fighting…hmm. I like the direction you're thinking J keep on pondering!

 **TV Manic 2-** Thank you for reading! It's an honor to have one of my favorite writers on FF pay special attention to something I'm working on. And gosh, within five sentences, you're already giving me plot bunnies haha. And as far as McGee and Dick's relationship goes…you're not the first to confess your doubts. You're right—Dick is a well liked character, loved by practically everyone. Why McGee would not fall for his charm…well, I know my reasons, and they'll make their way onto paper (screens, watevs) soon. What I'm interested in is what _you_ think ;)


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